Time To Get Serious
by Bonhiver
Summary: Rose, mourning the death of her mother, is taken in by her uncle, Sal Maroni. While trying to survive in the mob, Rose has a run in with Gotham's newly at large psychopath and finds herself losing control of the one thing she had left: her sanity. JokerOC
1. Uncle Sal

Author's Note:

Ok, so after falling in love with the insanity that is the Joker, I thought I'd take a stab at these Dark Knight stories. We'll see how this goes... don't forget to **review**! Also, nothing is mine, except for Rose and the plot.

_**TO THOSE PEOPLE WHO READ THIS BEFORE: I updated a few things, so take a look back! It's important!**_

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It was never Rose's intention to go back. She had never visited her uncle or any of her mother's family, nor had Rose had never even met him until the day of her mother's death. That was the day everything changed, and certainly not for the better; that was the day she discovered she was the niece of Sal "The Boss" Maroni, the most notorious mob boss in the entire city.

"Don't worry, Rosie," she remembered how he had gripped her shoulder tightly, possessively, as they left the hospital and walked toward his black limo. "I'll take care of everything."

Rose had just seen her mother die at 3:17 am on a Sunday, due to an inoperable cancer in her lungs. Rose then had spent almost six hours talking to the life insurance agency, the funeral home, the doctors and nurses, everyone. She finally ran into Maroni, dressed in a tailored grey suit, accompanied by two large thugs, his usual entourage of protection as he roamed the city. Her mother's stories about her family were vague and uninteresting usually and Rose had no photographic evidence of her parents and siblings to clarify. So when Rose saw a handsome man standing outside of her mother's private hospital suite, she assumed he was just another one of her mother's lawyers to clarify her mother's affairs.

"I'm your uncle Sal, sweetie," he had said in such a charming voice. It took Rose off guard at first, but she couldn't help but feel comfort after having faced the all-business expressions of the insurance company and funeral arrangers, even the sickeningly unhelpful priest who tried to console her. She wasn't upset to see him because despite who and what he was; he was family, the only family she had around at the moment. With her father thousands of miles away in Pakistan, his home country and her older and estranged siblings Paul and Alex completely preoccupied with their lives in Cairo and Sydney, respectively, Rose knew she could not deny the support of an older male figure.

They barely spoke, but even in the ten minutes they spent together before leaving, Rose began to feel slight trepidation around he newfound uncle. His charm and warmth wore off almost instantly and was replaced with an arrogance that could only come with holding the soul of Gotham City in the palm of his hand. Rose regretted her acceptance of a ride back to her hotel, of her uncle taking over the funeral arrangements, of meeting "the family" that night for dinner. But it was too late; she had no one else to turn to in her world of deepening despair.

"Uncle" Sal pulled her out of her thoughts as they drove away from Gotham General. "Where are you staying?"

Rose's weary and exhausted eyes met her uncle's alert ones. "The Hilton on 47th, near the art museum."

He laughed heartily and Rose couldn't help but feel like he was laughing at her. "There? No, Rosie. No niece of mine is gonna be staying at some flea-bit hotel like that. I'll put you up in one of my apartments. You'll have it all to yourself and you can stay there for as long as you like. How does that sound?"

"Thank you, but I don't think I can," Rose said apologetically. "I mean, I have to get back to New York for work and—"

"Rosie, Rosie, please," he put his hand up to stop her. "Don't insult me. You're an author; you don't have to go back to New York to write. And besides," he added with a grin that gave her goosebumps, "we're family, I want to see that you're well taken care of. "

_You mean so you can keep tabs on me,_ she thought to herself. She was slightly insulted that her uncle had only taken interest in her after the death of her mother, his sister. There had never been so much as a letter or phone call from him during her entire life. The only reason she even recognized his name was from stories her mother had told Rose about her youth in Gotham, not to mention the reporters and journalists who were always broadcasting and publishing his name all around the streets of New York, her current location. She could only think that he was after her inheritance money, which thanks to her law firm in Washington, DC, was a considerable amount.

Knowing there was no way out of this trap she suddenly found herself in, Rose accepted. "Thanks, Uncle Sal."

"There's my girl," he leaned back casually into his seat across from hers, and rested his right ankle on his left leg. "Stay as long as you like. An old... friend used to live in the apartment, but she's since moved away. It's all yours if you want it. I'll make sure the cabinets are stocked and you've got everything you need to live like a Maroni. You deserve it."

Rose smiled and looked out the tinted window, her forced cheer leaving her face as they drove through the dreary, rainy streets of Gotham. Life as she knew it, was over.

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Ok, nerds, that's all you get! Now, quickly! Review!


	2. All Of Them, All Lined Up

Author's Note:

Yayy, thanks for reviewing, guys! I wrote that first chapter really quickly and then got cut off before I could write more, but I wanted to put up something. I did add a little more to it, so if you've read it, maybe look at it again. I'm glad you guys liked it. You guys said some very nice things (I'm taking to you, **knit-wear**!!!!), it lifted my spirits a little bit, since it's been like Forks, Washington all up in this bitch since I got home from school, hahaa.

And if you're at all interested in _Lord of the Rings_ or Tolkien stuff, read my other story. I'll be updating it pretty soon, too. Don't forget to review this chapter, too! I really love getting feedback.

Oh, and **HoisttheColours**, I meant to make it more of a point that Sal's "friend" was just Random Mistress A that he kept shacked up so the wifey wouldn't find out, haha. Definitely not our friendly neighborhood psychopath.

For those of you wondering when dear ol' Jokiepoo is gonna pop up outta nowhere, I haven't really decided yet. This story's kind of taking off on its own and I don't know what else to do but wait it out to see when he'll come in. There's at least gonna be some Batman appearance in the third or fourth chapter.

Okay, now I'm done! Go read!

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The next few days were a blur. Between visits from the Maroni family—aunts, cousins, family friends, "business" partners, and _especially_ Sal, lengthy phone calls with her publisher, Paula, at Simon & Schuster, and the foreshadowing of her mother's funeral looming over her, Rose was completely unable to cope with the passing of the only person who ever cared for her.

That's not to say Rose's father, Akram, didn't love her; he had been the most doting a man could be to his daughter and adored her. But when her parents divorced when Rose was twelve, he moved back to Gujranwala and remarried. Rose rarely saw him anymore, except on Muslim holidays when she would go to visit him and the rest of his family. They had even completed the _Hajj_ by taking a pilgrimage to the holy city of Mecca together. It had been the most eye-opening experience of her life and Rose looked forward to visiting her father as often as she could.

Her older brothers, were a different story; they were twins and about five years older than she was. They got along well enough when they were young, but after they left for college, they never looked back. It always upset Rose when she thought about the brilliant lives her brothers were pursuing, Paul as an archaeologist working in the pyramids, and Alex working as a banker in Australia. They never got along very well with their parents, especially after the divorce. Rose knew they resented the way their mother handled the situation and never spoke to her, even after her doctors discovered inoperable tumors in her lungs. But despite the bitterness towards their mother, they promised Rose that they would come to the funeral; they owed their mother at least that.

Rose sat sadly at the edge of her bed, thinking how her life had become a sham of what it once was. Being the main griever to a deceased loved one was hardly new for her. Her first marriage had been going strong for 16 months until her husband, Charles, her brave and caring college sweetheart, had been murdered anonymously in South Africa, trying to help the country still feeling the repercussions of apartheid and racial prejudice. That had been almost a year ago; Rose remembered her mother's condolence when she would cry herself to sleep or find herself unable to get out of her apartment or even her bed.

But Rose couldn't stay in bed today. It hit her numbed and distant brain that today was her mother's funeral. Her black dress was hung up on the closet door; Sal had all of her things from the hotel brought to the apartment on the chic, North Side of Gotham. Rose sighed and looked at the clock. 5:49 am. She hadn't slept a wink that night, wanting to make sure she cried enough to last her for the service, the drive to the cemetery, the lowering of the casket, followed by a miserable reception at another one of Sal's apartments around the city. While she didn't need to arrive at the church until noon, Rose knew sleep was a fantasy well out of reach that day.

She walked to the bathroom, ignoring the gorgeous ivory tiling and the immaculate sink, the soft pale blue towels and the matching sheer curtains. Rose could hardly see Sal allowing one of his thug friends or bodyguards staying in this apartment and decided that he had bought it as a place to keep his mistresses. She shuddered at the thought. She turned on the hot water in the bath tub that was definitely made for two—which only sickened her, thinking of Sal's "friend" entertaining her guests (i.e., Sal) in the tub—and plugged the drain. Once the tub was full enough, Rose threw off the worn Baltimore Ravens jersey of Ray Lewis that had belonged to Charles, a devout Ravens fan and Marylander, and stepped gingerly into the warmth of the bath. She let the heat seep into her bones, soothing her cold and exhausted body and spirit. She sighed calmly, feeling the most relieved she had all week.

Rose looked to her right and noticed a remote. She picked it up, careful not to get it too wet, and pressed the power button. In reaction, the stereo system in the bedroom turned on, picking up where it left off on the CD Rose had listened to earlier that day. Pleased with the result, she turned the volume higher so the music could be heard in the bathroom and settled into the tub.

_Huge crows loitering by the curb_

_Our shared paths unraveling behind us like ribbons_

_And I dreamed of vultures_

_In the trees around our house_

_And cicadas and locusts_

_And the shrieking of innumerable gibbons_

_All of them all of them_

_All of them all of them_

_All of them all of them all of them all of them_

_All lined up_

The quiet guitar plucking soothed Rose, while the somber lyrics were sung in an almost unearthly voice. Rose just let the music calm her down as she gently washed her hair and body, in no hurry to finish her short respite in her sorrow. Rose waited until the water became room temperature before she unplugged the drain and rinsed off for good with the shower.

The stereo was silent, having finished the CD long ago. Rose wrapped herself in one of the warm robes in the bathroom and looked at the clock. 7:04 am. She decided to make herself breakfast and padded down the wood floor of her hallway until she reached the living room, equipped with a 72-inch plasma screen, an electric fireplace, and luxurious leather furniture. Rose cringed as she felt her shins rest against the freezing material of the couch, wishing she was resting on the suede one in her own apartment. She turned the television on, turning quickly to the news station.

A blonde man appeared on the screen in a dark blue suit, with the graphics, **BREAKING NEWS**, under him. Rose was immediately interested.

"...and there are no further reports as of now, but we can now confirm that Gotham's most notorious criminal, the Joker, has in fact, escaped from Arkham Asylum. We will now take you to a press conference with Commissioner James Gordon."

The screen changed to a conference hall at what Rose assumed was the Gotham City Police Department. Cameras flashed wildly as shouts and murmurs continued throughout the room. On either side of the wooden podium were police officers, standing very still and not answering any of the probing questions reporters asked. The noise and flashes augmented as a man with greying hair and glasses approached the podium. He looked weary and completely burned out as he held his hands up for silence in the room. A few cameras still flashed and ghosts of whispers were heard throughout the room, but everyone's attention was on the exhausted man, who was obviously the police commissioner.

"It upsets me to say, that the Joker has escaped Arkham Asylum," Commissioner Gordon said in a raspy voice, hoarse from shouting. "Explosives were used in his escape and while some damage was done to some of Level Three of the asylum, there were no deaths or injuries. We currently have our best men looking for him and we will have more information later, I can assure you. I will not be taking questions at this time. Thank you."

He stepped down to an even greater uproar of shouting journalists and flashing cameramen, all eager to get the most detailed story they can. The television connection froze for a moment as Gordon rubbed his forehead with his hand as he made his way past the questions and interrogations. Rose couldn't help but feel sorry for the man; he was obviously dealing with more than he could and to no avail.

The screen jumped back to the blonde anchor. "That was just Commissioner Gordon at the GPD, reporting to the public that the Joker has escaped from Arkham. We will now be talking to Tina Oakley, who has more on the story. Tina?"

"Thanks, Mike," an attractive brunette said, standing outside of the conference hall. "As you said, Commissioner..."

Rose zoned out, knowing that the news station was just going to drag this out as much as they could, using what little information they had, trying to make a story out of virtually nothing just to scare the public into tuning in at 5 pm, then 6 pm, then 11 pm for more details.

The growl of her stomach let Rose know that breakfast wasn't a bad idea. She walked into the next room, the kitchen. She put water from the sink into the kettle and set it on one of the electric burners on the stovetop. Scourging the cabinets revealed that her uncle really had kept his word and over the days when Rose had been preoccupied with the stonemason for the grave stone, the florists, and the many cousins and extended family she had never met, he had had the house stocked with food and supplies to let a person live comfortably. Rose took out two eggs, orange juice, butter, and jam, and set it on the counter near the stove. She found bread, coffee grinds, and a French press in another cabinet and they joined the other items. In less than ten minutes, Rose had prepared a simple breakfast of eggs, toast, and coffee.

She had long since changed the channel, tired of listening to the paranoia the news was trying to pump into the minds of the innocent, opting for one of the many movie channels. Rose was lucky that morning; HBO was showing _Love Actually,_ one movie she never seemed to tired of. While she had never been one for happy endings and knew of their nonexistence in the real world, she loved watching them acted out by big celebrities. Rose watched as Natalie left the Prime Minister's (played by Hugh Grant, of all people) office. The Prime Minister groaned and looked at the picture of Margaret Thatcher on the wall.

"Did you ever have this kind of problem?" he asked hopefully. The portrait, obviously, said nothing, to which the Prime Minister replied, "Yeah, of course you did, you saucy minx."

Rose couldn't help but laugh as she rinsed off her dishes and put them in the dishwasher. There were still hours to burn before Sal would come by with the limo full of her cousins and aunts that would take her to St. Thomas Cathedral, downtown.

After getting dressed and fixing her hair and makeup, it was only 10:45. Rose stared at herself in the mirror, smoothing down the front of her dress and smiled slightly.

She remembered feeling so scandalized when her mother had offered to take her shopping for her funeral dress. But Rose had had one of the best times with her mother that day; they had just found out about the cancer and arrangements had already been made in Gotham, but for the mean time, they were at the house where Rose had grown up in a rich suburb just outside of DC. Rose and her mother drove to Georgetown, a trendy area in DC and shopped around for the perfect dress. It had been a Sunday, so they went for brunch, then went into almost every store until they found a very simply black dress that was definitely the perfect length for a funeral. They found shoes at the next boutique over and ended their day with an early dinner, then a movie. Rose knew she would look back fondly on that special day, only months ago.

As promised, Sal, her aunts Gina and Betty, her uncle Joey and her cousins Mario, Vicky, Frankie, Jean, and Elaine picked Rose up. Rose knew Sal's wife, Gina, would be the biggest pain during the service; she had been trying to force Rose to make a speech about her mother, since she had been the only family her mother had spent time with in the last thirty years. But Rose knew if she so much as moved anywhere near the casket, she would fall apart in front of Gotham's entire mob scene and she couldn't stand to do that. Sal's kids, Jean and Frankie, were among the biggest brats she had ever met; Frankie, only at the mere age of 16, exemplified the perfection depiction of any Guido asshole on the Jersey Shore, while Jean's hair poof couldn't be any higher, nor could her black dress be any tighter, squeezing her in every place that makes her the poster girl for all jailbait. The irony of Jean, the Mob Princess's, jailbait attire and looks was not lost to Rose. The other kids were her aunt Betty's kids and younger, Vicky couldn't have been older than thirteen. They seemed well-behaved enough, but that was probably due to the hawk-like watch their dad gave them. Rose almost felt embarrassed sitting in the limo next to Sal and the door, feeling like an outcast to her over-perfumed and made up, gum-chewing, drug and gun dealing family.

"Y'know, I can't wait to see what that bitch Henrietta is gonna be wearin'," Betty laughed, her bright red nails completing her failed attempt to add color to her black dress and leopard print fur coat. Rose felt like she was sitting next to a drag version of The Nanny.

"Betty, c'mon," Joey groaned, his eyes leaving his three hellions for a moment. "Do we have to talk about this right now? It's your sister's funeral. Besides, whadda you care about Henrietta Falcone is wearin'?"

"Well, why can't I talk about what she wears?" her voice got louder and two octaves higher as she defended herself. "She thinks she can get away with those tight little outfits, but the woman's a big, fat cow! She ain't nothin' like my little niece, right, Jeanie?" Betty winked at the indifferent 17-year-old, who was too busy texting on her Blackberry to notice her aunt.

Rose only closed her eyes and sighed quietly as she could feel a fight over nothing starting between Betty and Joey. Betty was soon questioning her husband's abilities as sole provider to the family, to which Joey began insulting her taste in clothes. All Hell was about to break loose.

"Betty. Joey," Sal said in such a funereal tone, that it almost went unnoticed because of the shouting match that had just ensued. Even Jean, who was probably in the middle of a very important sext, looked up, eyes wide at her uncle. Nothing else had to be said. Rose already knew about her uncle's reputation. Anyone who disrespected the orders of Sal Maroni usually found themselves in more trouble than they knew what to do with. She was just surprised to see that this rule translated into the family, too.

Sal's sister quickly pursed her bright red lips together and sat back in her seat. Joey immediately shut his mouth and gave one of his daughters, Elaine, a death glare when he saw her hiding a smile. Sal leaned back in his seat and to smile at Rose. She was thankful that he was treating this situation as it should be—with respect and somberness. He must have loved his sister, or at least had the decency to act like a human being around his niece for the funeral. She reminded herself to ask him about it later and went back to looking out the window as the rain continued to fall.

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There's this theme of rain and looking sadly out windows to end chapters. It should probably stop. But I made it so much longer! If you're anything like me, you hate short chapters. I think I have the third chapter just about prêt-à-partir, but I don't wanna post it yet. Keep you guys waiting in antici.....

…..

…....

…........

….pation. Hahaaa!

And major points to whoever knows the song Rose is listening to in the bathtub.


	3. An Offer You Can't Refuse

Author's Note:

Well, I couldn't stop writing. I've tried and I've tried, but I can't stay away. Maybe because I have nothing else to do because I don't have a car anymore. For some reason I've been up until like, 4-6 am, just writing this and my other story (which you should reeeead!). And you'd think that I'd have like a shit-ton more than I do. Maybe I'm a slow typer, maybe the Internet distracts me, whatever. But I have a new chapter for my little monsters! Hooray!

Joker: Why would they wanna be called _monsters?_ That's so degrading.

Hey, what're you doing here?

Joker: I read this chapter and I can't say I'm impressed. Where the HELL am I??

What, you too? **LOOK,** I'm establishing important background stuff. Besides, Rose has to mourn her mother's death, yabitch.

Batman: Yeah, yabitch!

Wait, you're not supposed to be here yet, either! Both of you, get outta here!!

Batman: Sheesh, what's her problem?

Joker: (shrugs) You can never tell with that one. Hey, wanna see a magic trick? I can make this penc—

NO!

Joker: Pssh, you're no fun.

Anyways, thanks so so much for your reviews. I mean, I'd keep writing this whether you wrote to me or not, **BUT THEY REALLY HELP MOTIVATE ME, SO KEEP SENDING THEM??** And, **HoisttheColours** is our big winner! Except the song is called "Idylls of the Kings" _by_ the Mountain Goats. But whatever, you're the only one who tried! Good for you!

Joker: Does she get anything?

Well... no. I have no money, what do you expect? A holiday? A cookie? A cuddle from someone?

Batman: Ooh! I'll let her cuddle me!

(raises eyebrow) Okayy... well, it looks like you've one a cuddle from the Dark Knight. Enjoy! Hey, Joker, why won't _you_ cuddle her? This is your story, after all.

Joker: (reveals inside of coat lined with bombs, knives, and guns) Do I need to say it?

Nope, not at all! I'll just be over here, away from you...

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Rose almost fainted when she arrived at her seat in the cathedral. She had strictly told Sal this and it had been her only request: a closed casket. Rose had no desire to see what her mother's body looked like after a week of decay. Of course, all of Rose's other plans had been canned, like a small ceremony at a little funeral home with her mother's family; half the city had been invited to the grandest church in Gotham. Her mother had asked for a small choir to play her favorite church songs; the entire choir of the cathedral was singing a Requiem Mass. Old pictures of Julia Constanza Maroni-Akram were found throughout the entire church, extravagant flowers adorned the casket, and a grand organ played while the choir sang and everyone processed inside. Half of the people in the pews were members of the Maroni mob or other various mobs, while the rest were simply Gotham's elite, looking for an excuse to wear their new designer black wardrobe. The women were adorned in enormous pearls and diamonds and they all wore large dark sunglasses, despite the overcast and rainy forecast outside, while the men stood in a manner that can only be attributed to their years of upbringing and practicing a somber demeanor. Everything felt so wrong, so unlike Julia. It was like a funeral for a stranger.

Rose did all that she could to keep from falling to her knees and screaming.

"Rose," came a deep voice from behind her. She turned around to see Paul and Alex, identical as ever, suffering from severe jet lag and sorrow. The last time she had seen them was in Pakistan to visit their family for Eid almost four years ago; it felt like a millennium had passed. They seemed so much older and worn than before. Both of them had wedding rings and the sight of both sent daggers through her heart, realizing that they hadn't just cut their mother out of their lives.

But the familiar faces were more than enough for her. Rose embraced them both, saying how happy she was to see them and that Mom had said she loved them. Their late mother's message sent a shock wave through them both, the understanding of her passing becoming all to real for them both. Sal introduced himself and Rose felt like she was watching something more like a business exchange than the greeting of a man to his late sister's children.

"How long are you staying?" Rose asked Alex as they sat down.

He shrugged. "We planned on making sure you got back to New York, so whenever that is."

"Well, I had made plans to leave on Thursday," she told them quietly, making sure no one else could here. "but Uncle Sal wants me to stay and get to know the family."

Paul furrowed his brow in confusion. "Why?"

"Well, definitely not to meet the family, but I have a few ideas," she said, glancing at her uncle as he shook hands with the supposed grievers. "Money, for one."

"That's why Mom never wanted us to meet her family," Paul realized. "If I'd known that she was a _Gotham_ Maroni..."

"I know," Rose replied. "I just need to think of a way to get out of this without Sal finding out." A silence passed between the three of them, before Rose made an attempt at conversation. "Are you going to the reception? It's at Sal's place."

They both nodded, their identical intuition still seemed as sharp as ever, even after living in different time zones for so long. "We can just follow the limo, right?" Paul asked.

Rose nodded. "It's the embarrassingly long one full of Guidos," she said wryly.

Alex and Paul both smiled at her small joke and Rose felt more at ease, like she used to during the few, rare moments of camaraderie their childhood together.

An irritating priest began the service and all of the Catholics went to take Communion. The entire Maroni family stood in the first few pews, except Rose and her brothers. When Gina motioned for them to stand, follow shook her head.

"We're not supposed to drink, we're Muslim," she said quietly, but nearly the entire family heard. Shock and horror stayed on their faces throughout the ceremony, well after the realization that Julia had married a Muslim man.

Of course, Rose was over-exaggerating. She certainly _was_ a Muslim, but she never stopped herself from accepting a glass of wine at dinner, a martini at a bar or club opening, or even a beer at a football game. She felt like defying the irritating family members in what ever ways she could. Rose could barely explain her sudden resentment towards everyone. Rose needed that today, especially after her only and most important request had been completely ignored.

The service continued and Rose watched Jean read a verse from the Bible—something about death and comfort and finding the Lord—Rose was hardly listening as her spoiled niece monotoned through her reading. A few family members and an old high school friend spoke before the service was finally over. Then, came the mad rush to the cemetery. With such a big name behind the funeral, almost all of Gotham had to shut down so the "mourners" could make their way to Grey Haven on the outskirts of the city.

Rose was silent the entire ride over, deeply wishing she had asked for a ride with her brothers. Instead, she had to ignore the whining of Jean as her hair frizzed because of the rain and the shouting coming from Mario and Elaine as they fought. Sal had given up on controlling his family, only keeping an arm around Rose for support while he gripped his cane to his side. That had come as a surprise, as her uncle hadn't done so much as look at her all day, and suddenly he was her anchor, her support. Beginning to feel the inevitability of the melancholy that would soon take her as her mother was lowered into the ground, Rose accepted the condolence and rested her head gently on Sal's shoulder.

Rose had been right; she couldn't control herself as the gravediggers pulled the lever that brought the casket down. She felt the sobs racking her body before she heard herself. She was surprised that such a mournful and helpless noise could come out of her. She didn't remember being this sad when Charles died, probably because her mother had been next to her the entire time. She felt like eighty times worse than that new widow of last year, who sat at the Woodlawn Cemetery as Charles was entombed. She felt the strong hands of Alex and Paul on her shoulders, trying to calm and comfort her, but nothing was helping. She heard people walking away from the grave, but she couldn't move. It took her a good ten minutes to regain her composure and noticed everyone had left except her aunts, uncles, their children, and her brothers. Dry eyes looked into her wet ones and she suddenly felt embarrassed as she walked with her brothers.

"It's okay, Rosie," Alex said, trying to calm her down. "Do you want to skip the reception?"

She barely remembered nodding through her tears and listening to Paul tell Sal and everyone else to go without them, that they would take her back to her apartment.

"You don't have to do this," she rasped as they drove down the street of her temporary flat.

Alex, who sat in the back with her, only patted her knee and pulled her into a hug. "Yes, we do."

She could tell they were trying to compensate for their years of absence. Normally, it would have bothered Rose and her demeanor would have given off a "too little, too late" attitude, but she was vulnerable and needed to be consoled.

Rose washed her face in the hallway bathroom as Paul made tea in the kitchen. They each had a cup, sitting at the table in a deadening silence, until Rose could barely take it.

"She missed you two," she stated simply. "A lot."

Neither of her brothers knew what to say. They only sat, looking more guilty and upset than before. Paul was the first one to speak. "I didn't know how to talk to her."

"You still could have called. Especially when I told you she was sick," she replied. She wasn't trying to accuse them for "abandoning" their mother. She was simply acknowledging their neglect.

"I wrote her a letter," Alex said as he lit a cigarette. "A long one. I didn't get a reply, but I know she got it. I sent it the day you called."

"You were so young when the divorce happened, Rose," Paul told her. "Mom hid things from you, kept you from getting hurt. But we knew everything, even before it happened. It was too much and I hated her for it for years."

They were right; Rose was so preoccupied with swimming that summer, she barely noticed the estrangement and fights between her parents reaching a high point. But her brothers, totally prepared for college in Seattle and Vermont and without a care in the world, were well aware of the conflict in their parents' seemingly perfect marriage.

"When Dad finally moved out, Mom was a wreck," Alex continued. "She didn't do anything, she sat in her room, didn't eat, didn't sleep. She just cried. Those were the three weeks when you stayed at your friend's house. We had to take care of her, Paul and I. It was almost impossible. Mom had loved Dad so much, we knew that; we just didn't realize how him leaving would affect her. She was completely broken. She had completely given up on herself, on you, on us, on life. After five days of her refusing to leave bed, we had to put her in the shower to get her clean and wake her up. It was bleak, really bleak. And Paul and I... we weren't even eighteen yet. What were a couple of high school graduates going to do with their depressed parent? It was too much, just..."

Alex's voice shook as he told the story and he had to put out his cigarette. Rose saw his eyes begin to water. Paul wasn't looking much better. His breathing was shaky and he couldn't meet his sister's eyes. He was the first to start crying. Rose lost all sadness as Alex tried to stifle his, but the pain got to be too much; she was beyond shocked at the display before her. After leaving for college, her brothers rarely showed any emotions besides discontent and indifference. But suddenly, they became human, not these stiff shells of people who were always seemingly unhappy in the presence of their family. Rose was sitting closer to Alex, so she wrapped her arm in his and pulled his head onto her shoulder. She took her free hand and grabbed Paul's tightly as they purged their emotions.

"I love you both, you know that?" she said quietly. At that moment, she decided to go to the reception.

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"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. Are _you_?"

"Yes."

Paul laughed at Alex and Rose's exchange, ushering them towards the front door. "So, into the lion's den we go."

The three siblings entered the house slowly, feeling more than out of place when they were greeted by their aunt Gina, who still looked resentfully at Rose for refusing to speak at the funeral, even after Gina had silenty told her multiple times to do so over Paul's shoulder. The food and drink were both excellent; Rose and her brothers laughed as they drank their martinis under the indignant eyes of Sal's wife, pleased to have gone against partaking in the church service they knew their mother would have hated for herself. They laughed at Frankie, who sat on the couch with a girl who seemed to be his girlfriend. The young couple obviously had had plans for alone time during the reception, but were forced to remain in the company of guests that day.

Rose found herself forced into conversation with members of the Perestrov family, the leading Russian mafia family in Gotham, until she was introduced to the boss's son, Dmitri. His attraction to her was beyond obvious and Rose knew he had plans to take advantage of her vulnerability. Her brothers had long since hidden themselves in the laundry room with a bottle of cognac, reminiscing on their high school days, like the drunks at parties usually do. Thankfully, Sal saw the spoiled Russian's advances on his niece and walked over to rescue her. Even with his cane, he held such dignity and steadfastness; it impressed Rose to no end.

"Dmitri, would you leave my niece and I alone for a moment?" Sal said smoothly, emphasizing the word "niece" as he rested his hand gently on Rose's shoulder, but in a protective manner. The overconfident mob son looked disheartened, but thankfully left Rose and Sal alone. She couldn't help but smile at him.

"Thank you so much," she leaned in, making sure their conversation was private. "If he'd asked me one more time where I was staying, I would've paid you to kill him."

Sal could only laugh, the wrinkles around his eyes scrunching together. "Rosie, you don't need to pay me to do that. That little rat has been a pain for years and ever since he graduated from college, the little snot has been prancing around the city like he owns the place."

"What's with the children of mob bosses being so damn spoiled?" Rose laughed in reply, only gasping at her mistake. "Not that Frankie and Jean are—"

Sal patted her gently on the back and smiled. "Oh, please. Don't try to sugar coat it, my wife spoiled them rotten and there wasn't anything I could do about it. I know my kids are little monsters. Especially Frankie. Between the two of us, I'm not so sure I'd trust him taking over when I'm gone."

"I'm sure he's just being a teenager," Rose assured him, but not believing it herself. "I was just as bratty and self-assured as he and Jean were. It'll wear off."

"I can only hope so," Sal said. "The Maroni family needs a strong leader and none of the kids seem up to the challenge. I remember having a sense of purpose when I was Frankie's age; I knew what I was going to be and I did everything I could to let everyone else realize that. And I wasn't the only Maroni looking to take over. My cousin Lonnie, he was a fighter. But, he was all brawn, Rosie. No brain. You can't run this family or this _city_ on strength and muscle alone; you have to be smart." He paused before adding, "You're a smart girl, aren't you, Rosie? I've seen the way you've been acting around these clowns," he gestured to his sister and the other family she had forced to deal with. "You don't brag about your smarts, but I know it's there. That book you wrote about traveling in Venice was pretty sharp. Graduated top in your class at... what university?"

"Columbia and Northwestern Law," Rose told him, before adding in slight shock, "I can't believe you read my book."

Sal laughed in recognition of her accomplishments and pulled Rose closer towards him where they stood. "You're the biggest Maroni success after me, kid. And you're so young; only twenty-five! That's why I want you to stay. I want us to get to know each other a little bit better. With all this... _Batman_ business going on, I can't be the man I used to be. I want someone smart and trustworthy, like you, around to help me."

And there it was. Rose could hardly believe her ears. Her she was, a widow and New York Muslim author, visiting her mother's family for the first time in twenty-five years, only to discover that her uncle, the Boss, _the_ Italian, was looking to make her, _her,_ a _woman,_ his successor.

"Uncle Sal, I..." Rose couldn't form a sentence. She was still mourning her mother's death and suddenly she had to decide if she wanted to give up her normal life for a life of crime, lying, deceit, and Guidos. "Could I...um, er—well, could I think about this? That's a lot so sudden. And thanks for thinking of me so highly, I just—"

"Of course, of course, Rosie," Sal said to her, sounding very pleased with his choice and her reaction to his request. "Take your time. And you know what else? Keep the apartment; I don't use it, anyways. Not since my, uh, friend Irene moved back to L.A. I'll set you up with a bank account here and keep you taken care of until you make your decision. How do you like the apartment?"

Rose smiled, feeling herself going deeper and deeper into the lion's den. "Oh, it's great, really great. Thanks, so much, Uncle Sal."

"Kid, I told you, you're family," he flashed his charming smile that made Rose feel slightly uncomfortable, like she was getting into something she knew wouldn't end well. "And the Maronis, we're a close family. Don't ever forget that, yeah?"

She nodded. "Absolutely." _Oh, yeah,_ she thought, _this is gonna be trouble._

--------

Rose couldn't sleep again that night; her brothers would be leaving for their new homes the next day, leaving her alone in Gotham under the _very_ watchful eye of their uncle. She couldn't even think about her mother now, not after what Sal had said to her. She sat at the piano ("I always liked having a piano in my houses, Rosie," Sal had told her. "It adds a real touch of class.") trying to figure out her next move.

_I can't just leave,_ she reasoned. _He'll have me followed; there's people staking out the house 24/7, watching me. No matter how smart he thinks I am, he must really think I'm an idiot if I don't notice the same Chevy parked across the street with the tinted windows. And I can't say 'No' to him. Who knows how he takes that kind of rejection? This is _literally_ an offer I can't refuse. But maybe... maybe this whole 'Join the Family Business' thing is a façade? I'll just stay to see what he _really_ wants with me. Then, I can decide where to go from there._

Rose wouldn't admit it to herself, but she felt a strange connection to Sal. He had only met her a week ago and was being a friendly, comforting presence in her life. She hated to think it, but she needed some kind of older figure watching over her. It was a thing she had with security. And who better to have watch over you than the most powerful mob leader in all of Gotham? He did what a police force couldn't; if need be, he would go outside the law to watch over and protect her. And as twisted as it sounded, it made Rose feel all the more safe and calm. Besides, she felt like she deserved a break from her exhausting Manhattan lifestyle. The area she lived in reminded her of Lincoln Park in Chicago, full of Yuppies and their young children, quiet, low crime (for Gotham, anyway), and had an almost suburban feel. Yes, Rose definitely deserved a holiday, however extended or brief.

She dabbled on the piano for an hour or so, making up short melodies and playing some of her favorites from her lessons during her childhood. All the while, the news station played in the background, reporting of a failed attempt to capture the Joker in the Narrows, resulting in the death of three officers. There would be no funeral procession like last time, Commissioner Gordon had said, in case the Joker chose to repeat the same attempts on the mayor he had last year. Rose was hardly interested in the ongoing search for the Joker, even after more breaking news that some small-time criminals on the run had been found dead at the steps of the precinct, faces ripped to shreds with some kind of carving knife, the Joker's "card" rolled and stuffed down each of their throats. The police determined that they had most likely crossed the Joker and had paid dearly for their grave mistake. The news station would not show the pictures of the three corpses, deeming them much too graphic for television, even at the late hour. Rose scoffed, seeing the regret in the anchor's eyes that he couldn't be the one to present such graphic horror, journalistic gold, to the late-night viewers.

"Crooked, every last one of them," she said to herself in her best Serpico accent, as she turned off the television and went to look through the cabinets for baking ingredients.

It was a little past one in the morning and Rose didn't feel very tired, so she decided to bake something, just like she did in college and law school when she was anxious for an exam and couldn't sleep. Rose hoped she had the supplies to make scones. There was no buttermilk, but it was hardly a problem to make her own; she found vinegar in the cabinet and milk in the fridge. There were even frozen blueberries in the freezer! Rose happily mixed the ingredients and preheated the oven. In about an hour, she was happily munching on the fruits of her toils, a little flour in her hair and on her pajamas, but she hardly minded. She packaged the scones, labeling four different containers, "Uncle Sal," "Aunt Betty," "Alex," and "Paul." Rose was hardly one to make baked goods for herself; if she did, she'd weigh about a hundred pounds more. She would give the scones to her brothers when they stopped by later before their flights.

Rose hummed a nameless tune as she cleaned the kitchen and decided she should get back to work on her latest novel. She stared at the computer screen for hours, feeling weary as she struggled to fix two major problems in the story.

Her main character, an escaped maximum security prisoner, was wrongly accused and was on the lay of the land after escaping the US for Europe. He found himself taken in by an old French couple who lived in the countryside and spoke no English. Rose was struggling, because she couldn't find a name for her hero; she was looking for a good, strong name that represented the freedom and individuality of the protagonist, but wasn't overly obscure. The name Henry or Louis were too plain and weak, Godric was too brash and outlandish, and Samson was too obvious and biblical. Thankful she had decided to write in first person, Rose had avoided the subject of her hero's name, in a similar way Ellison's Invisible Man did. On top of the name debacle, Rose was trying to allow her hero to leave the country home, as his final destination was _supposed_ to be Biarritz, a gorgeous beach town near Spain. But her hero was enjoying the company of Pierre and Christine, his caretakers, too much to leave so suddenly. She had written herself into a corner and was trying to weasel her way out, to no avail.

"C'mon, you stupid idiot! Get outta there!" she shouted at the screen of her laptop, trying to make the hero understand his journey wasn't ending in the lazy countryside.

Rose was shaken from her thoughts when suddenly, there was a knock at her door. Her head popped up from her slouched position and her heart began beating quickly in her chest.

_Who would be visiting me at this hour??_ she thought worriedly and made her way, quietly, to the door. The curtains were closed over the windows next to the front door and the lights were out in her foyer, making it impossible for anyone to see her from the inside. But she saw an outline of a man standing at the door, holding a box. After watching enough mob movies on television, Rose knew a lone man standing outside the door was not the best sign. Suddenly, she felt a vibrate from her sweatpants pocket and nearly jumped six feet in the air. It was Sal. She walked quietly away from the door before answering in a violent whisper. "Hello? Uncle Sal?"

"Open up, kid, I'm at the door," he replied and Rose couldn't help but laugh at her overreaction.

"I'll be there in a second, bye," she said, utterly relieved, as she walked the few steps into the foyer and opened the door.

Sal was waiting for her, with two boxes full of holes. _Pets?_ Rose immediately thought as she invited him in. "You scared me! Why the late-night delivery?"

"I just had some of your things brought here from New York, just to make you feel more at home," he said, his warm eyes smiling at her as he opened the box on his left, then his right. "I knew you wouldn't mind me bringing them here; you could use the company in this big, lonely duplex."

Small meows came from the boxes and Rose could hardly believe her ears or eyes when she saw her cats, Molly and Atticus, jump out of the crates and run immediately to her, purring and mewing. "My cats! Uncle Sal, you really didn't need to do this. Thank you, so much."

He held up a hand, telling her no thanks were in order. "Don't worry about it. I just wanted to check up on you, too," he added with more sincerity.

Rose smiled sadly, feeling the melancholy of the past week catching up with her. "As well as I can be, thanks. I'm just... I don't know," she finished lamely as she picked up Atticus. "Were you and my mom very close?" she suddenly asked the question, not knowing what had prompted it.

Sal seemed just as taken aback; his usual cool and calm face looked shocked and unsure. But he quickly recovered, regaining his conscious. He smiled and scratched the back of his neck, almost sheepishly, the way she had seen Alex and Paul do whenever they got into trouble during their childhood.

"I knew you'd be asking me sooner than later," he said, resigned to the fact that she would know the strife that had last between himself and his sister until her death. "You may want to sit down for this one."

-----------

Well, that's it! A nice little cliffy for you. Pretty much the next chapter is all about Rose's mom and Sal. So in the mean time, get ready...

Joker: ...get set...

Batman: …get comfy...

All: ...and review!

Hey, nice job, guys. Batman, Joker, I'm proud you guys can get along.

Joker: Batman, you complete me.

Batman: I wish I knew how to quit you!

Wait, no no! Not okay. Let's keep this platonic, you sick freaks, okay?

Joker: (whips out a knife) Who'd you call a freak?

Ummm... not you?

Joker: That's what I thought.

Phew! Okay, while I go protect my face, _you_ go review!


	4. Of Days We've Tried To Forget

Author's Note:

Here's the next chapter! It's not very long, but I'm reworking a few things and I didn't wanna keep you waiting too long. Also, I just wanna say I'm glad a lot of you are enjoying Rose's character. I didn't realize it would end up like this, all about Sal and Rose and her mother's past and the mob thus far. But it means so much that you're all sticking with me and seeing how this plays out. Now, enjoy!

---------

Rose felt a sudden rush of pity for her uncle as he left, tightly gripping his cane for support. He suddenly looked much older, his handsomely young demeanor had faded into the face of someone who was exhausted, over worried, feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders. Sal had always seemed so well put together, never surprised or concerned by anything. It was the most vulnerable she had and would ever see her uncle again. As Rose watched him walk to his town car that had waited dutifully for her, she realized that she had seen the Salvatore Maroni that very few people saw.

"You look just like her, you know," he had said just before he left. "When I saw you in the hospital, I thought Julia was walking down that hallway and she hadn't aged a day since she left." He went into his pocket and pulled out a worn, ripped picture and handed it to Rose with a smile. "You see?" With that, he kissed her forehead and turned on his heels, out the door.

Rose looked at herself in the mirror after Sal left. She held the picture in her hands and smiled, looking at the almost identical female smiling back at her, arm around the shoulder of a younger version of Sal. They were probably in their early twenties in the picture and had been very attractive, even in their tacky polyester clothes. Rose imagined the admirers they must have fought off, together. Julia was older than Sal by two years, but they had been thick as thieves since Sal learned to walk.

"I remember when I was 8 and Jule was 10, we visited our grandparents in Palm Springs," Sal had recalled earlier. "We snuck into the pool in their gated community past hours and played there until our parents found us. That was a great night," he laughed and shook his head, remembering the night fondly.

_Jule had always watched over Sal in school; there had been boys in seventh grade that would go down to the elementary school and bully the younger kids on the playground. Sal was small for a fourth grader, so he was an easy target. He had almost been beaten up in front of the entire grade one day, until Julia came running from inside the building, having seen the bullies and sprinted out of her classroom to save her little brother. Sal had ben forever grateful and in high school, when he grew into his height, he could return the favor. _

_Those same boys in seventh grade were seniors for the second time and thought it was funny to lift up girls' skirts in the hallway in between classes. Never having forgiven Julia for showing them up all those years ago, they always picked her out from all the other girls. Usually, they weren't so lucky to catch her before she walked into class or a teacher came into view of what was happening. But that day, the boys' luck changed; Julia had been walking alone in the hallway, distracted with cramming before her test next period. The bigger one of the pair lifted up her skirt while the other one pulled down her underwear, wanting to make her even more humiliated, still bitter from all those years ago. Julia hadn't been unpopular by any means, but she wasn't the Prom Queen, either. She blended in nicely, but her name wasn't unheard of. So to be degraded publicly, was the most mortifying experience in her life. From the other side of the hallway, Sal had seen the two goons approach her from behind and quickly sprinted to stop it. Due to the overcrowded halls, he didn't reach the three in time to keep them from humiliating Julia, but he did exact his revenge. It had taken two teachers and one of the football players to pull Sal off of the bigger thug while the other gripped his bleeding nose, but the looks of surprise and fear on their faces made his trip to the principal's office worth it. Both the boys were suspended for two weeks and banned from attending the graduation ceremony, and Julia never stopped thanking Sal for his help until she left for the University of Michigan, only a forty minute drive from Gotham._

_Almost every weekend, Sal would drive up to Ann Arbor to visit his favorite sister, annoyed with the constant prattling and nasally laughter always coming from their younger sister Betty's room. Sometimes, they would skip classes on weekdays and spend the day at an in-between town, going on picnics, sneaking into Sci-Fi double features, or just sitting in the car and talking, listening to 8-tracks. They told each other everything; Sal had met a girl, Regina Fiori, who had just moved from Detroit, while Julia told Sal that she had "done it" with a girl, Maggie __Slusarczyk__. She told him he was the only person she trusted with a secret like that. Even though Sal found Julia's "experimentation" slightly off-putting, he thought he was the luckiest brother in the world to know that she trusted him with such a big secret. Life got even sweeter when Julia graduated early with honors and finally returned home. But the good times didn't last for very long. Julia, a 20 year old girl with limited dating experience, found a boyfriend. And not just any boy. Tony Zucco, the nephew of the Maronis' biggest rivals in Gotham._

_Sal tried to like him, he really did. But the arrogance, the condescending tone in which Tony always seemed to behave drove Sal mad. He didn't understand how Julia put up with it. But she was too in love to notice his flaws; she fawned and mooned over Tony all day and all night, calling him when she couldn't see him, spending all of her spare time off work at an art gallery with him. Sal rarely saw her. And with his position in the mafia becoming more and more elevated, he soon realized that the relationship between Julia and Tony made the Maronis look bad. And nobody made the Maronis look bad._

_Julia refused to break off the relationship with Tony and thought Sal was insane for trying to keep her from him. She always said it didn't matter where you came from, because deep inside we're all the same mixed up idiots that just want to be loved. But Sal didn't buy it. The Zucco family was notorious for double-crossing and breaking promises; Sal was only trying to protect his sister from the impending betrayal and heart ache she would feel. Sal worried that with Tony's closeness to the Don Zucco, he would use Julia to discover the dealings in the Maroni clan and use it against them._

_Sal wouldn't let that happen, he couldn't. Not with his father's health deteriorating, his forty years of smoking finally catching up with him. His family and the business began to look to Sal for guidance and suddenly, the 19 year old with a high school degree found himself slowly becoming the boss of the most prominent mob family in the United States. Julia had never approved much for the "family business," wanting to pursue a career in government or law. She hoped she could help those underprivileged and often stepped on individuals who needed a voice. Sal realized on his fourteenth birthday that he had to realize his father's wish to take over, which would happen very soon._

_After a meeting with the rest of the family, uncles, male cousins, Sal realized what he had to do to assume his rightful position as the Boss. And he did it, with relish. He hadn't regretted his actions, the rush of adrenaline and the thrill of the act kept him alert and excited, until he returned home that night to see Julia sitting in the kitchen, waiting for him. Her eyes were bloodshot from crying and her face was marble, a stark contrast against the dark waves of onyx falling from her head._

"_You killed him," she said venomously. "You killed Tony."_

_Sal had no reason to deny it; his once white button-down was covered in red and brown splotches and the blood was drying, caking onto the wooden baseball bat in the trunk of his Chevette._

"_I did what I had to," was all he said as he went to walk past her, the subject was dropped and they would move on. But Rose had other plans; she shot out of her seat in a flash and grabbed his arm swiftly and harshly._

"_What were you _thinking_??" she gritted between her teeth._

"_You know he would've turned on you, Jule, I know it. He was a Zucco!" Sal shot back, yanking his arm from her grip and rising above her. "We can't trust the Zuccos! They want to bring us down, lower than the dirt and the worms and mom's coffin. I couldn't let them do that, not with all the hard work Dad put into making this family!!"_

"_That still doesn't give you the right to kill him!!!!" she shrieked, her voice echoing against the cold, hard tile underneath her bare feet. "He was a good guy, Sal, you knew that! And I loved him!!!" She felt the bitter tears falling from her eyes, though she tried to fight it. "__**I LOVED HIM!!!**__ And YOU killed him! And you don't give a _fuck_ about the family business, Sal, I know that! You're just trying to prove yourself to Dad, to Uncle Vinny, to everyone! You're trying to prove that you're not some fuck up who didn't go to college or some stupid hippie kid like they call me. You just want them to see you as a _man_; you want the power and you didn't even once stop to think that your quest for domination of the family completely shot to the ground any chance I had at happiness!!!!" She was crying profusely now, pointing a finger at him accusingly, unable to control the emotions and the words pouring out of her mouth._

_Infuriated, Sal grabbed Julia by her shoulders and shook her. "You don't know what I've done for this family, Julia!" he roared. "I've fought, sweated, lied, toiled, and _bled_ for this fucking family! While you were off skipping around Ann Arbor, reading Shakespeare and bumping cunts with Pollack girls, I was _working,_ all for this family! I didn't go to college because they needed me here! I was working so that we could have a good life when Dad dies!"_

"_I _had_ a good life!! I was in love with an amazing man and he even talked to me about getting _married_!!!! He was my first real love, Sal, and then you took him away from me! You're a bastard! A cold-hearted bastard! You don't care about me, you only—"_

_**SMACK!**_

_Sal's and Julia's eyes met, both shocked at what he had done and what she had said to trigger such a reaction. But the surprise and hurt in Julia's eyes quickly left, hatred and disdain sank into them._

"_I hate you."_

_The next morning, Julia was gone on a one-way flight to New York City, leaving Sal, her dying father, everything she knew, behind._

Rose wished that her mother had confided in her about Sal, about Tony Zucco, about Gotham and her old life, about everything. But the longer she stayed, the more Rose realized how much about her mother she really didn't know. And that scared her.

-----------

Well, there you have it! Sal was a real dick to his sister. And the name of her boyfriend, Tony Zucco, _is_ the name of a crime guy in Gotham. When I see the name all I think of is John Travolta and peer pressure to be cool in high school, but it's totes some mob dude's name. I found it on Wikipedia! I think I did a weird job on integrating the flashback of Sal's story with the actual story, but I couldn't really think of doing it another way. Let me know what you think!

And The Joker _will_ be coming soon! I swear, he will. In his own words, "It's all a part of the _plaaaaaan_." I've got this really cool (or so I think) way to introduce him and integrate Rose into the big dogs of Maroni's business, but that kind of stuff doesn't happen overnight. Soon, my pretties, SOON! Now, press that little itty bitty green link above those crappy advertisements and let me know what you think. Bonhiver OUT!


	5. Indecision 2009

Author's Note: I've been a writing machine lately! I guess that's what happens when you pull all-nighters, watch _The Dark Knight_ twice in one day, and have nothing else to do because your friends are still taking finals while yours have been over for a few weeks. ANYWAYS, I hope you enjoyed the last chapter. I think this one's a little longer, and much more eventful. We have a very special guest in this chapter! I'll give you a hint...

Duh nuh nuh nuh nuh nuh nuh nuh....

Yeah, it's just Batman, sorry. I wrote this epic long shit about Rose finally meeting the Joker. I think you guys are gonna like it. For now, enjoy the cameo by the Caped Crusader!

---------

A few days passed and Rose found herself slightly missing the company of her uncle, her brothers, even her aggravating aunts and bratty cousins. Her novel was at a stand-still and she felt herself growing antsy. The only solace Rose found in her hermitage were Molly and Atticus.

They were getting old; Molly was Atticus's mother, so she was almost three years older than he was. Rose could tell they were slowing down, a far cry from their first years together when Rose had been in fifth grade. She had immediately fallen in love with Molly when she went for a walk in her neighborhood, only to meet a couple that was moving into an apartment further into the city. They had planned on giving their beloved feline companion to the pound, but when they saw the lonely little girl walking alone down the road, pulling an empty wagon, they decided to give their little bundle of fur to her. Rose had never been happier and it had hardly taken any convincing her parents when they saw how much the cat loved her. Her old owners called her Gretal, but Rose hated that name; she chose Molly, instead. Molly was an orange tabby and the next summer, she met another tabby. They had five kittens together and Rose's parents let her keep one.

Rose adored their company, the almost harmonic meows accompanied her as she played the piano, and their soft tails brushed against her legs as she lifted the damper pedal. It was especially helpful in her current circumstances to have the companionship of someone that cared about her.

"Oh, shiiit!" she swore suddenly in between chords, scaring the cats away. But Rose couldn't pay attention to them. She put on her shoes, purse, and coat and ran out the front door, locking it behind her. She bundled up in the chilly air of late autumn as she walked to the grocery store. Rose felt like such an idiot; she had been so caught up in writer's block and the piano that she forgot to pick up her prescription from the pharmacy.

"I'll be damned if they're closed, those bitches," she grunted as she quickly walked through the automatic doors.

Opting for Indian delivery, Rose sprinted past the aisles of groceries towards the back. She arrived just in time to watch the last pharmacist walking away from the area. She groaned in defeat, deciding to buy yogurt and fruit to make her own _lassi _as compensation for her walk. She paid and made her way back to the duplex to wait for the delivery man. Her stomach growled and her mouth salivated at the thought of her Tandoor combo, complete with a samosa, rice, and naan bread. _So hungryyyy_, she complained mentally as she turned down Tulane Ave.

Rose was barely 20 yards from her front door before she was pushed down to the ground, out of the sight of any passers-by. She fell onto the concrete with a grunt, her yogurt container broke and its contents splattered everywhere. She turned onto her back, gripping her purse tightly, only to come face-to-face with the most despicable low-life she had yet to see in Gotham.

"Why, hello there," he rasped, his breath reeked of stale fast food and cigarette smoke as he pulled her face close to his. "What's a pretty thing like you doing out alone at night, hmm?"

"Only stopping by the grocery store, but it looks like I'll have to go back for another visit," she shot back sarcastically, nodding her head to the mess the thug had made, "and you'll be paying."

The man only laughed before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a large gun. Rose's eyes widened as she stared down the barrel of the Webley revolver. "I think the only one who's gonna be paying is _you_," he wheezed, pleased to see his victim put in her place. "How much is in the purse?" He held her head in his tight grasp and used the gun to point at her discarded bag.

Rose shrugged. "Around $40. I don't carry plastic with me," she lied quickly, praying that would get her off the hook. But no such luck.

The gun stayed on her as the mugger grabbed the purse and ripped it open, finding exactly $37 and no bank cards, debit _or_ credit. Rose was slightly surprised at the man's findings; she was never one to leave without her debit because she never knew when she would need something. He merely snarled and threw the purse over his shoulder and reached for her sweatpants. She froze, worrying that he would rip them off and have his way with her, but he only dug his hands roughly in her pockets, only to find her receipt from the grocery store. He growled unhappily again and hit Rose on the head in frustration. She felt the warm trickle of blood coming from her head and winced at the pain. He was kneeling on top of her and placed the gun under her chin and laughed loudly.

"I think we can come up with some other form of payment," he growled roughly in her ear, grabbing her hip tightly, pulling up the material of her shirt. "Don't you?"

"I don't think so," came a grinding voice from behind them. Before the mugger could react, he was lifted up into the air, all 270 pounds, and thrown a few feet away from Rose. She looked up in shock to see a black figure with pointed ears and an armor-like suit with the outline of a bat on his chest. His cape billowed in the night air as he stormed toward Rose's attacker, who was momentarily disabled.

"Oh, Batman, eh?" the criminal groaned in pain, but still laughed. "What do you think you're doing here?"

"I should be asking you the same question," the tall figure grated darkly, before kicking the other man harshly in the stomach, then punching him in the face. He picked the man up and slammed him against the brick wall of the alley. "You leave this woman alone, do you hear me??"

Even after taking a rather harsh beating, the criminal still seemed to be taunting Rose's rescuer. "Shouldn't you be catching the _Joker_ instead of slapping petty thieves around? Or is he just _too hard_ to catch?" he cackled menacingly, kicking the other man's chest, escaping from his grip against the wall, but barely hurting him.

The armor the taller man wore was extremely thick. Yet, the mugger raised his gun and shot the other man in the stomach. The only result to his firing was another round of punches and kicks from the caped man. Rose watched in awe as he served hit after hit to her mugger and almost-rapist. Finally, the large man was down for the count, lying unconsciously on the ground, a bloody heap. The dark figure then turned to Rose, who still lay on the ground, for fear of getting caught in the mêlée. She stared at him in confusion.

"Batman?" she tested the name out on her lips. "Are you a cop?"

He ignored her question, kneeling down and taking her head in his hands, gently. He noticed a few cuts and gashes on her face. "You need to go to the hospital," he told her.

Rose only shook her head, feeling woozy as she did so; the blood on the other side of her head was coming out fast. The caped figure noticed. "I'm fine, just let me go back to my apartment, it's just down the corner. Please, I...I'm so hungry, I have Indian delivery coming.... soon.... my, my houssse..." Her voice faltered as she felt her eyes closing, her caped rescuer the last thing they saw.

---------------

A fierce pounding in her head woke Rose up. She opened her eyes and groaned, immediately closing them again. The bright fluorescent lights coming from the ceiling were beaming irritatingly right into her field of view, only augmenting the pounding headache she felt. She squinted her eyes, adjusting to the blinding yellow light as she looked around. Well, she certainly wasn't on the street looking at Batman, nor was she sleeping in her bed, tummy full of Tandoori, like she had planned. A sharp pain in her right arm made her turn her head suddenly. She saw an IV needle shoved in her vein and the machine working next to her very uncomfortable bed. That said it all; Rose was in the hospital. And she was certainly not very pleased about it.

"Doctor, she's awake," came a gentle feminine voice from outside of her open door. She looked up to see a kind middle-aged woman standing outside her door, holding a clipboard and smiling. The door frame was suddenly filled with an attractive brunette doctor. He smiled at Rose. "Hello, Rose. I'm Dr. Baird. It's good to see you're awake. How are you feeling?"

"Like shit," Rose rasped, her throat dry and her voice tired.

He laughed lightly and wrote on a chart. "That's to be expected. But we're gonna help get you out of here as quickly as we can. How does that sound?"

Rose smiled. "Fantastic. But do I really need this IV? I hate medical needles."

"I'm afraid so," he said apologetically. "Not many people enjoy it, but it's hospital policy. Would you like some water in the mean time?"

"Yes, please."

He took her plastic cup and pitcher from the bedside table and poured the clear liquid. She muttered a quick thank you as he handed her the worn mustard yellow cup, and chugged its contents.

"So, what's wrong with me?" she asked, feeling much better suddenly, but the pounding in her head still bothered her.

"Well, you have a slight concussion and a few scrapes on your face and knees," he explained. "You seem to be recovering nicely, already, so we'll keep you here overnight just for observation and then we'll let you go sometime tomorrow afternoon if everything seems in working order."

"Wonderful," she sighed, laying back down on her pillows. "I can give you my insurance information if you need it now."

Dr. Baird shook his head. "That won't be necessary; your uncle already gave us his. He's waiting outside in the lobby if you'd like to see him."

Rose knew she shouldn't be, but she was surprised to hear that Sal had taken care of everything. She nodded her head and Dr. Baird sent the nurse from before to bring him in. He then went to work on conducting a few quick tests to see that she wasn't facing any major head injuries.

"I have a quick question, doctor," she said as she quickly passed the flashlight-to-eye test.

"Yes, Ms. Rainier?"

"Did you see who brought me in at all? Because the last thing I remember is—"

"Rosie, how are you?" her uncle's voice came from the door as he walked in. He was dressed in his usual attire of a very smart, very expensive suit, accompanied by his cane, and was smiling pleasantly. He kissed her forehead and looked at her. "Are you feeling better?"

She nodded, distracted momentarily from her question. She wasn't sure if she wanted her uncle to know that Gotham's caped vigilante had rescued her. "They say I should be out of here by tomorrow."

Sal smiled. "Good, good. That's what I wanna hear. Gimmie a call the second they let you go; I'll pick you up and we can talk about..." he paused. "...about what happened."

"Thanks, Uncle Sal."

Her uncle then turned to Dr. Baird and put his hand out. "Thanks for taking care of my niece, doctor."

Dr. Baird gave him a sparkling smile and shook his hand. "It's not a problem, Mr. Maroni. She took quite a fall, but she's a tough one; she'll be gone by tomorrow afternoon."

"Good to hear," Sal replied, before turning back to Rose. "I'll see ya tomorrow, kid."

Rose waved with her left hand, not wanting to move her IV arm, as he turned the corner and walked away. Dr. Baird walked over to her bed and patted her on the shoulder.

"Now, what was your question?"

"I was wondering who brought me into the hospital," she replied. "I mean, the last thing I remember was being rescued from a mugging by... Batman." She almost felt silly saying the name.

Dr. Baird nodded, his brown eyes reflecting the yellow light in the room. "He did bring you here; he was worried because you had lost so much blood on the way over, but he couldn't stay. You know, being Batman really limits visiting rights," he joked.

Rose was silent. So it had been Batman. She had honestly never heard of him before, but she could at least reason that the caped crusader was certainly a pain in her uncle's side and thought it was best that he didn't know the details of who brought her to the hospital. She asked Dr. Baird and he gave her his smile that reminded Rose of a cross between a cartoon pilot and Prince Eric from _The Little Mermaid_, giving her his word to keep silent on the matter. Everyone knew who her uncle was and what he was capable of doing.

"In the mean time, you should get some rest. Just press the call button if you need anything," he said, pointing.

Rose nodded and thanked the doctor as he left. She sighed and looked out the window, wondering if Gotham had unknowingly switched places with Seattle; it had rained everyday since she had arrived. She could use a little sunlight in her life, in more ways than one. It certainly had been dark for too long.

-------------

After an almost sleepless, uncomfortable day in the hospital, Rose was released the next afternoon at around five. She immediately called her uncle with her phone, wearing the sweats she had worn the other evening that had been returned to her. She sat in her wheelchair in the lobby (again, Dr. Baird had told her, hospital policy), waiting for him. It only took Sal fifteen minutes to arrive, despite living on the other side of the city. Rose couldn't help but wonder if he had the ability to shut down the highways on any given day, not just for his sister's funeral.

"Let's get out of here," he said, helping her into the limo. "I'll take you to dinner."

They arrived only ten minutes later at a small Indian restaurant and Rose's stomach growled in anticipation of the overdue craving fix. She felt underdressed next to her uncle, but she was too hungry to care. They ordered quickly and Rose munched on _papadum_, a crispy bread, and chutney, taming her hunger until her food arrived.

"Rosie, the doctors wouldn't tell me anything about how you got hurt," Sal suddenly spoke. "They just told me you fell, but I know you're not that clumsy to fall and crack your head open. What happened?"

Rose sighed, knowing she would have to come up with a quick lie. She stuck with the story for the most part. "I had been walking back from the pharmacy and I got yanked onto the floor of an alley by some thug. He took my money and yelled at me, hit me a few times, hence the concussion and cuts," she motioned to one on her cheek. "I kneed him pretty good and ran onto Franklin Street," she began to lie. "I felt blood trickling from my head and I yelled for help. I saw someone running towards me when I blacked out; I guess they called the ambulance for me."

Sal seemed satisfied with her story and grinned. "You _are_ a tough one," he said fondly. "Just like your mother."

Rose returned the smile. "Thanks."

"Have you thought any more about my... offer?" he asked.

"A little," Rose said and truthfully, she had. That entire day in the hospital, after convincing her brothers that she was fine, they weren't at fault by any means, and they didn't need to spend thousands of dollars to fly back out to see her, she thought long and hard about her uncle's proposition. Rose never had dreams of being a mob boss; she wasn't sure who _did_, except for Sal. She wasn't sure if she wanted to give up her writing to work as a full-time criminal. But on the other side, it wouldn't be a bad idea. It's not like she had very much to lose. With her mother and husband gone, the rest of her family well out of the jurisdiction of Mafia ransoms, she didn't have to worry about her loved ones getting hurt. Still, her conscious to keep from doing bad things stopped her from jumping at the opportunity.

"And...?" Sal urged her to continue. "What do you think?"

Rose shrugged. "I'm still not sure. I've got a great job going in New York and I don't know what I'm gonna do now. Everything's pretty up in the air at the moment."

"Well, you just let me know," he said as the food arrived. Rose couldn't help but notice the disappointment in Sal's eyes; he had expected her to jump right on the bandwagon. Rose just wasn't confident in her abilities to become the hard-ass leader of the most notorious mob family in Gotham. She was starved as she stared down at her Lamb Xacutti in gastronomic excitement, all thought of violin cases, olive oil, and Marlon Brando left her mind.

---------------

Rose's life returned to some semblance of normalcy after her run in with Batman. She went out occasionally, just for dinner with her uncle, for a walk around the neighborhood, or for a quick run to the grocery store. On this particularly rainy day, she sat happily at her computer, finally writing more on her new story. While she had yet to give her character a name, he had escaped the domestic grasp of Pierre and Christine, stowing away late in the night, leaving a letter, and hitching a ride with an old farmer who was heading south.

"Yes, yess, this is excellent," she said happily as her hero stayed in the farmer's barn the next night, only to be visited by the farmer's rebellious, intelligent daughter. She asked to go with him in broken English as they lay in they hay together, wanting to escape the hum drum lifestyle she lived, but the hero told her to stay, that he would one day come back to her and they would see the world together. It was a little cliché and out of character for the hero's rather sterile life, but Rose wanted to show a softer, more loving side of the man. When he lived in Washington, DC as a high-ranking official in the Department of Defense, he had always been much more mature than his young age of twenty-three, especially after graduating from Duke Law in two years with honors at seventeen. He definitely needed some lovin'.

Rose felt some similarities between herself and the nameless prodigy; despite his overconfidence before being framed for extortion. She found herself constantly empathizing with his case, ignored and cast aside by those who he had thought supported him. Rose hadn't experienced such expulsion in a professional, but personal case. She had been charged with counterfeiting a final paper during her senior year at Columbia University. It had been one of the only grades in the class, so Rose had nearly broke down when she lost her entire paper when her computer broke. She finally got a new one and finished the research on the Medieval Dualism within Europe, but a classmate and supposed best friend of hers claimed she copied her thesis. Rose had done no such thing and later discovered that it had been her "friend" who broke her computer, took all of her information and made her own, sub-par thesis. The professor had believed Harriet only because they were having an affair. Somehow, at the edge of expulsion from the school, the truth was revealed and Harriet and Dr. Furnam left the school, humiliated and with child. Rose was no stranger to deceit and lying from people who supposedly cared for her, just like her hero.

That was why Charles had been her soulmate; it had taken her so long to trust the handsome, older law student, despite all his kindness and good intentions. But when she finally let Charles in, there was no going back. He had been the end of life as she knew it and they married right after Rose graduated. There marriage, despite its brevity, was the most beautiful and loving one she could have ever hoped for. Charles was sterile and they had made plans to adopt all of their children, move to a penthouse in the Upper East Side and grow old together. That was until Charles took a volunteer position one summer to visit Cape Town. "I'll be back before you know it, Rosie baby," he promised her on the last night she saw him, as she helped him finish packing.

He had been right; she saw him only three weeks later, but under less than desirable circumstances. Rose had gotten the call at three in the morning on a foggy Monday and was on the next plane to South Africa by six in the morning. Identifying the body had been the hardest; that was put Rose off open-casket funerals altogether. She wailed as she saw his pale, empty face uncovered so abruptly by the stiff pale cover in the cold, metallic room at the police department. Her love, her life, her heart, was gone. She had been hopelessly lost as she made arrangements for the body to go back to New York City, where he always told her he wanted to be buried ("With the poets and governors long gone, Rosie," he had said during their visit to Père Lachaise Cemetery in Paris one winter. "I wanna be _surrounded_ by immortality.") Going to the Bronx for the burial had been a trip, but Rose had been more than willing to fulfill the last wishes of the love of her life. She remembered walking past the gravestone of Duke Ellington, Charles's favorite musician, and breaking down by herself, hiding her sorrow from the rest of the mourners. The idea of someone walking on top of her husband's plot came into her head as she saw the gravediggers doing so after they finished lowering the casket into the ground. She could barely stand the idea of it and sprinted away from everyone.

Her mother found her, resting her head on an anonymous gravestone, crying harder than she ever had before. It had taken only a few minutes for Rose's mother to calm her down enough to get back into their limo and so they could go to the reception at a friend's house in Brooklyn. Rose wished she had her mother with her now. She wouldn't be in any of this mess if her mother was still around; Sal wouldn't be pressuring her into joining the "family business," her writing would be much more fluid and relatable for her readers, and this debilitating loneliness that was threatening to consume her wouldn't be there.

But there were too many if's in Rose's life. She had to grow up and stop worrying about the what if's and the if only's in order to deal with all the problems in front of her. And then, suddenly, the answer became clear. She knew what she could do to occupy her mind, to soothe her loneliness, to help put her back on her feet. Rose suddenly realized that the only way she could do this was by accepting her uncle's offer. She could live with the slight danger, the uncertainty. What she _couldn't_ keep doing was sitting in that apartment, feeling sorry for herself. And after that run-in with some of Gotham's finest scumbags, Rose wouldn't admit it to her uncle, but she was afraid. She wanted the means to protect herself, the authority and power to never be the victim again. And if she joined Sal's business, she was sure she would never have to worry about anything again. It was time to become a new person, to start a new life.

It was time to get serious.

------------

Aaaand, there you have it! The namesake of the story, as well as some background on our leading lady! The next chapter is all about Rose being a mob guuurl! It's like Al Pacino meets Carrie Bradshaw, but not at all like that. Rose is just fashionable as Carrie, even though I don't really talk about it, I have this image of her being that way. And pretty soon you'll see her let the Mafia take over her life. But not for too long, haha. Until next time, my little monsters!


	6. I Never WANTED To Be A Gangster

Author's Note:

Another installment! I posted the last two rather quickly and I have a feeling I'll be uploading the next chapter within the next 12 hours. I hope you enjoy this! Thanks for reading and your reviews, it means a lot to me! By the way, Batman, I forgot to tell you. **HoisttheColours** said she doesn't mind cuddling you.

Batman: Ooooh, really?? That's excellent! I told you she likes me better than you, Joker.

Joker: Whatever. She's reading a story about _me_, idiot.

Batman: Yeah, but I'm in it first! She probably wants to see me in the story again, too!

Joker: Go back to your smelly cave, Bat Booger Man!

Batman: Grrr, I hate you!

Joker: Grrrr, I hate you _more_!

Batman: I hate you even if I didn't hate you!

Joker: I'd hate you even if that made sense!

Boys, what's happened? You were so... _Jerry McGuire_ meets un-gay _Brokeback Mountain_ a few chapters ago!

Joker: He called me a sissy!

Batman: Because you wear makeup, dummy.

Joker: It's part of my demonic mystique, duh! Besides, the ladies love it.

Ladies: It's true.

Joker: Just because nobody wants you because they can't see your ugly face doesn't mean you have to get all whiny.

Batman: They fall at my feet because I'm so dark and dangerous, but safe and comforting. I rescue them and then fly them across the city! Ladies love that!

Ladies: Yeah, we do.

Oh, sweet baby Jesus, we are NOT having a conversation about who gets more love from the ladies! These people wanna read the new chapter! It's not all about you.

Joker: Are you sure? Because, if my memory serves me correctly, _you're_ writing this story about _us._ _You_ obsess over _us._ _You've_ watched _us_ duke it out in many a movie. It seems like _you're_ the one who's putting all this attention on _us._

Batman: Yeah!

Dammit, I just got owned by my own devices! But seriously, let's continue this fight later, okay?

Batman: Okay!

Joker: Okay! (whispers) Ladies love me mooore!

What was that?

Joker: Nothiiing.

------------

Rose really wasn't looking forward to seeing Aunt Gina and the brats, but Sal had insisted she come over for Sunday dinner. It had always been a huge affair in the Maroni house; Rose remembered her mother always telling her how lucky she was that she didn't grow up in Gotham like she did. Dinner always started out nicely, with the kids, the parents, and a few aunts, uncles, and cousins. But after one mention of an off-color subject or the use of a single insult meant as a joke, there was shouting, crying, yelling, accusations, death threats, and a few destroyed dinner plates. Rose secretly hoped some kind of domestic warfare would break out, which would give her full reason to dump a huge glass of water on Frankie's head, ridding him of his hideous over-moussed hair. But diligently and politely she sat, eating, drinking, and conversing with the impeccable manners she had learned from attending embassy banquets with her parents in her youth. Nothing seemed to be boiling under the surface of her extended family and she knew there was no threat of a Maroni dinner table battle.

Gina seemed impressed with the sudden change Rose had made from a grief-stricken brat to the polite and sweet niece she should have always presented herself as. She chatted to the women about fashion and gossip, to the men about business and the economy, and to the children about school; she even offered to help Jean study for the SATs. Dinner had passed without consequence and Gina, hoping to get an extra set of hands in the kitchen, was unhappily surprised to see her husband ushering Rose into his lounge "to talk some things over."

_Probably gonna go talk about Julia again,_ the angry mob wife thought disdainfully. _She's dead; I don't understand what else there is to talk about._ Her displeasure with her niece suddenly had to take a back burner when she heard the slamming of expensive crystal against the dining room wall, accompanied with the shrieks of Betty and the roars of Joey.

Rose and Sal heard the ruckus from behind the door, but the mob boss only ignored it, mentally reminding himself to remind Betty whose house she was wrecking. In the mean time, there were other, much more important things to discuss with his niece. He was pleased to hear that she wanted to spend more time with the family, get to know them all better, and maybe learn a thing or two about the family business. Sal hadn't expected the day to come so soon when his replacement would be learning the tricks of the trade, but with Batman hiding in dark alleys and the Joker at large, he couldn't help but worry for his safety. After all, he _had_ ratted the crazy clown out to the caped freak, so who knew how much longer he had until her heard the unsettling cackling and saw the greasepainted face of his doom?

"So, Rosie," he began, choosing his words carefully so as to not scare her off. "What made you decide so quickly about joining our line of business?"

The young woman shrugged. "I honestly don't know. I think it was a realization that I should start making my way in the world as something. I mean, I can always write, but it doesn't give me the satisfaction I thought it would when I started. I could use some... control in my life."

Sal smiled. He couldn't argue with that logic. The girl had lost her husband and mother in less than two years and she was certainly lacking authority over the events in her life. Maybe he could introduce her, slowly but surely, into the life that only Maroni men had dreamed of. "Well, I'm glad to hear that. If you want, we can start you in on small jobs, like finding recruits or surveying some of our savings. It gets pretty easy after a while. Tomorrow night we're gonna go do some uh, business at the club. You're welcome to join," he stopped before adding with his handsome smile, "as long as you don't mind a little noise."

Rose returned his smile and nodded, gripping her glass of brandy a little tighter, hoping he wouldn't notice her slight trepidation. "Not at all."

Sal rode with her in the limo to her house, promising her a new car before the week was out. Rose thanked him fully as she exited the soft leather interior of the black Lincoln and made her way inside. She couldn't help but feel dirty, like she was about to do something very bad. This was crossing more lines than she had originally meant to, it felt wrong. But the feeling of partaking in the business she had only seen in Al Pacino movies almost... excited her. Rose had never been one to do anything illegal, aside from underaged drinking and hits from the party bong, but _this_ was the big time. Now, she was in. There was no turning back, no backing down.

----------------

"Are you ready?" Sal asked Rose, as she felt the limo stop and heard the muffled bass of the surround sound speakers.

"Yep," she said confidently. But secretly, she was shaking all over. She wore one of her many black dresses, not wanting to attract anyone's attention as some kind of hussy, but wanting to at least look the part of a future mob boss—somewhat dark and in control.

They exited the car and Rose saw an enormous line of twentysomethings, dressed in the latest skimpiest or douchiest fashions, talking and laughing excitedly. Rose couldn't help but secretly miss those wild days in college and law school, heading out to clubs completely dressed up, dancing with muscular strangers and drinking away the mentally exhausting trials of the school week. But Sal's hand on the small of her back shook her from her fond memories of higher learning. He gently pushed her forwards so they could enter.

The huge bouncer at the front door looked like the lovechild of Rocky and Mr. T, but one look at Rose and Sal, and the magical velvet ropes were moved, much to the displeasure of the partygoers. Rose heard someone shouting that Sal was too old to be bringing his whores to places like that. Rose shuddered at the thought of her uncle's many mistresses as well as being called one. But Sal didn't notice, preoccupied with other matters. They walked past the mad dancing and canoodling that one could only do in the darkest corners of the wildest clubs. Climbing the stairs, Rose realized they were going to the part of night clubs she and her friends would have shown a considerable amount of skin to go to, the VIP lounge. She couldn't understand why her uncle and his friends, all over forty, found the Gotham night scene as the perfect place to do business. But she would soon understand that they were more drawn to the women than the venue.

They approached a group of men surrounding a table, many of whom Rose had seen at the funeral. They were all smoking and drinking, some even had their arms around the skinny waists of Gotham's skankiest. Rose couldn't help but roll her eyes when one of the girls gave her a look of "_That's_ who Sal Maroni's rolling with? This ugly bitch?" but when Rose sat down in her own chair and Sal introduced her, the blonde along with the rest of the girls were put in their place, figuratively and literally.

"Girls, go play somewhere else," Sal said, waving a hand in annoyance as they pouted. "We've got business to do."

Rose sighed as a cocktail waitress brought her an absinthe martini. It was going to be a long, long night. And the booming bass and the noise of the club-goers accompanied with the wild flashing multi-colored lights and stifling cigar smoke were certainly going to be distracting enough to keep her from enjoying her first meeting with the Maroni crime family.

The men immediately launched into talks about their underground arms operation. The one called Big Paulie went on and on about their inability to slip the weapons past the Mexican border, while the others only told him the high demand for the guns weren't going to go away; they needed to come up with a solution, and fast. Narcotics were more of Sal's game, but even he understood the significant problem they faced with the smuggling of the automatic weapons. If they couldn't bring them past the border like they usually did, what else could they do? They argued for an hour and the now constant feeling of frustration and disappointment flooded the minds of Sal Maroni and his men. Without the weaponry they had collected in Mexico, they would soon be shit out of luck for money and control of the city. Then, a higher voice, shaky with insecurity, broke the deafening silence between the men.

"Well, I mean, couldn't you fly them here?" Rose's idea shocked herself more than the other men. She had expected to sit there, quietly, absorbing and observing, not participating. One of the older men, Johnny Four Eyes, scoffed at her.

"Girly, what do you know about flying in _guns_ over country lines?" he demanded. "You wouldn't get past the front door of the airport with the amount of weaponry we've got waitin' for us in Monclova! No airline would let us near their planes with suitcases full of guns."

"I'm not suggesting flying _commercial,_" she shot back, slightly offended by the man's words and wanting to put him in his place. "Don't any of you have friends with private jets? Call in some favors or something. You can have them fly into Mexico, land in some random part of the desert or some forest, load up the guns, and then fly out to some bum fuck place outside of the city. You avoid airports and customs and guards altogether."

All of the men were silent, almost dumbstruck. Here they all were, having worked in this business for at least twenty years, and suddenly, some young thing comes in and completely shows them all up by solving one of their biggest problems. But Sal smiled widely and patted her on the shoulder.

"We'll have to keep you around more, Rosie," he laughed, before turning to his men. "What'd I tell you, huh? Smart as a tack."

The men matched Sal's devious grin and they congratulated her for her quick thinking. Rose wanted to hide it, but the overwhelming pride and gratification of her uncle, the relief of feeling accepted among the men, and even the after-effects of her second cocktail made her do it. She smiled.

-----------

The men left the club one by one to keep from looking suspicious. Sal and Rose were the last ones to leave, the young woman feeling the excitement of her first mob meeting, combined with alcohol and the wild memories of years past in clubs. Rose was feeling better than she had in months, or even a year. Sal seemed to match her enthusiasm as they walked, laughing, out of the club's back door. As she jumped into the town car, giggling from downing her third martini and the rest of Sal's scotch, Rose felt herself reaching for the champagne bottle in the back of the car, wanting to celebrate her triumphant entrance into the mob. But her uncle, still stone-cold sober, had other plans.

"Rosie, I can't have you getting wasted right now, we've gotta get you back home," he laughed at his niece's upset face as he moved the champagne to his side of the car.

"Fiiine," Rose replied unhappily. But a sudden flash from the meeting made her hazel eyes sparkle and her bright teeth shine, even in the darkness of the car. "But that went pretty well, didn't it?? I mean, as long as one of the boys has some sort of connection to a private jet, we're in the clear! How much d'you think everything's gonna go for?"

"In a town like this?" Sal said confidently. "A _lot._"

Rose couldn't help but laugh as she imagined herself swimming in a pool of money, taking showers in gold coins, using a solid gold toilet, like she saw in the old cartoons. While she still felt a little uneasy about taking a place in Maroni's inner circle, the idea of doing something so new and dangerous excited her. She felt a little reckless. And it felt..._ good._

When they arrived at Rose's house, Sal had to help her inside. She wasn't too drunk, but enough so that if her neighbors saw her stumble and giggle at her missteps, they would get suspicious. Rose thanked her uncle again for his trust and permission to join his ranks.

"As long as you keep up the good work and stay in with the right people, you'll be fine," he promised her with a wink and a grin, and then he was gone.

Rose mulled around the house for a bit, took a shower to wash off the feeling of dance club and went to bed, excited to see what her new line of work would hold for her next.

------------

Months passed. Rose still found herself struggling to write her new novel, but was flourishing in her new business as her uncle's right-hand man, his consigliere. She was always there to bring in the potential squealers, to find new help to add onto the entourage, and even to make major deals with the other crime bosses in the city (but never giving them the upper hand in the bargain). There was, however, one thing Rose was not comfortable with in her new life in the mob—even though she _still_ didn't understand what a "vig" was. While she had never bared witness to it, she knew for a fact that her uncle oversaw or performed himself the killings of squealers, failures, and enemies to their business. It greatly unsettled her, but it was never spoken of in Rose's presence, which was a relief to her. Yes, with the help of Rose Rainier, Sal Maroni and his business had become supreme once again in Gotham, without a single run-in with that caped pain-in-the-ass, or even the psychopathic clown. And it felt good. Aside, from a short trip to New York City to retrieve her things from her apartment, making her stay at Gotham a permanent one, she hadn't left the city or the security of her uncle. Sal had bought her a gorgeous BMW, making Jean huff in jealousy as she looked at her Lexus, last year's model.

Rose was enjoying the perks of being the Boss's favorite and she certainly couldn't complain. She still found it irritating that even after all she had done, Sal had yet to call off his cronies from the 24-hour watchdog service on her apartment. But there was hardly anything to concern them, she kept to herself and only left the house by herself to go for a jog or to get groceries. Every other time, Sal was picking her up in his limo or town car, to this meeting or that family dinner. Rose had everything she had ever wanted and more as far as material possessions went. She still found herself alone most nights, busy working on another chapter of her novel or helping her uncle take care of his now thriving empire. But one night, her luck changed.

She had been on her way back from a restaurant just a few blocks from her house, having met her uncle and his men there to go over some last minute calculations from their purchase of a rather large amount of cocaine. Rose was feeling tired from their meeting, but could feel inspiration rearing its head for her to put in another chapter of her novel. But in order to stay up, she needed caffeine. She swore, realizing she had used the last of her French Roast that morning and went to the grocery store to pick up a few essentials for a late night writing. It was there, walking in between the spices and cereal aisles that she ran into him, literally. Masimo. He had been gorgeous, tall, Italian, and so-very-sorry for not seeing her walking. They barely spoke for more than three minutes, but something clicked between them. Maybe it was the way Masimo looked at Rose, maybe it was the want for companionship outside of the family and business partners, or maybe it was from all the wine she drank at dinner. But Rose couldn't help herself; she wrote down her number and handed it to him, telling him to call her anytime he wanted. She left quickly after that, wanting to worry about what she would do if/when he _did_ call in the comfort of her house, not in the Dairy Aisle.

Masimo called Rose the next day, telling her that she was consuming his thoughts and mind and that he needed to see her soon. They had met a few times over the course of two weeks around Gotham for short respites during the afternoon, as Masimo was so busy at his job. Rose was getting eager to see him as they would spend maybe a half hour together for lunch or a quick coffee break with minimal conversation about each other; Masimo always seemed so preoccupied with his work. But she never felt discarded, coming second best to his work. Always the gracious gentleman, he would give a thousand apologies and swore to Rose "after these busy weeks, we will be together, I swear to you." And while she was skeptical to believe him, something in his eyes made her trust him. And lo and behold, Masimo kept true to his word. Rose blushed wildly when he asked her to dinner the next week and she accepted.

"I will count the hours until I see you, _cara,_" Masimo practically purred on the phone. Rose had to fight the rest of the day to keep the Italian Love Machine off her mind, as she eagerly went shopping for a new date dress.

The Friday morning of Rose's scheduled rendez-vous with Masimo, her uncle took her out to breakfast, like he always did, at a small diner in the city. They were waiting for their pancakes when Sal's phone rang. Rose sat patiently as his voice grew more annoyed and upset as he spoke to whomever had called. He swore after he got off the phone. Rose, who was sitting across from him in their secluded booth, looked concerned. "What's wrong?" she asked.

He shook his head angrily. "It's nothing, nothing. Gina was just reminding me of some _charity gala_ going on at Bruce Wayne's tomorrow night," he groaned, obviously having forgotten about the event. "I'll take you over to Roosevelt Avenue in a bit so you can get ready."

Rose raised her eyebrow. "What's on Roosevelt?"

"All the top designer stores are there," he explained, the frustration still clear on his face at his forgetfulness. "You need something new to wear."

"Wait, I'm going?" she said incredulously.

Sal saw her horrified expression and couldn't help but laugh. "Yeah, kid. You've been here long enough and people have been asking about you. It'll be your debut into Gotham high society."

"If you wanted to present me to society, a cotillion would've been nice," she joked, but Sal could tell there was some fear and slight irritation in her voice.

"Look, Rosie," Sal said, giving her his serious look, which told her he meant business. "You'll be fine. You told me about all that DC crap you went to when you were a kid; you can dance, you've got good manners, you're beautiful," he winked in that uncle way that only made her laugh now, "and in a few hours, you'll have the perfect dress. They'll love you. If every man doesn't ask to marry you by the end of the night, he's just a gay."

Rose laughed at Sal and finished the rest of her coffee. "Okay, fine," she consented. "Let's go."

Upon her arrival at Diane von Furstenburg, Rose remembered why she loved living in big cities: the constant availability of high fashion at her finger tips. She smiled widely at the greeter at the front door and practically skipped to the shoe section. She immediately found a perfect pair of heels. Never one to bitch around with two-inch heels, she picked out a gorgeous pair of pumps that made her a little taller than Sal. She was quite pleased with the small clutch she bought, as well. Rose decided to go to another store for a dress, however; Diane von Furstenburg was too colorful and wild for an evening event at the billionaire playboy's estate outside of the city.

Rose dragged Sal through Valentino, Dolce & Gabbana, and Michael Kors, but to no avail. Everything seemed so plain and uninteresting. And Rose felt that she couldn't present herself to Gotham's elite in something humdrum and boring. She walked into Versace, feeling a little exhausted, just like she did when she would run around New York City, looking for the perfect dress for release parties or club openings.

_Christ, I'm tired,_ Rose groaned inwardly as she searched through the fabulously decadent rows of clothes in the store. It was getting late and she had to hurry; she needed time to get ready for her date with Masimo that night and get rid of the pounding headache she felt from all the stresses of disappointment.

Luckily, after only ten minutes in the store, Rose found the perfect gown for the gala: it was light, vibrant purple. At first she thought it would be too revealing, too low. But after trying it on, she sighed happily. It looked absolutely stunning on her, the low V-neck not exposing much, except some side-boob, which never bothered her very much, anyway. The back of the dress was also, low, with fabric crossing in the middle to come around at the front only to add to the ruching along the front to match with the top part. Even Sal approved.

"Well, take a long at you," he said, sitting on the chaise longue in front of the dressings rooms. His legs were bothering him after all the walking they had done. "You're a vision. Gotham won't know what hit 'em."

Rose smiled at her uncle's comment and in a few minutes, they had paid and were finally driving away from Roosevelt Avenue; Rose vowed she would only go back there under dire circumstances, otherwise she would stick to Anthropologie and Gap.

---------

A few hours later, Rose was stepping out of the shower, feeling much fresher and more vivacious. She was excited about the party, but even more so about her date with Masimo. She had a perfect date dress to wear for the Italian Love Machine and made sure apartment was neat and tidy, in case Masimo did "come in for a drink." He had called earlier, just as he finished work and told her about a small Italian restaurant that he wanted to take her to. Rose hadn't had very much variety besides her own cooking, diner food with her uncle, and her aunt's mediocre Sunday dinners. She was excited to be having Italian food and if a real Italian liked it, then it had to be good.

In the next thirty minutes she was ready, at first thinking about straightening her hair, but deciding to go for her usual wavy look, not wanting Masimo to think she was trying really hard. She wore her favorite flats and put on more makeup than usual, thinking that look could work for the Wayne Gala the next evening. Rose had been playing piano to calm herself down when she heard the doorbell ring. She almost jumped when she heard it and answered the door quickly.

And there was Masimo, looking as devilishly handsome as ever. He was wearing a white button down shirt and tailored black trousers; a simple look that made Rose's mouth water. She wore a floral print dress with tights and a cardigan. He brought her a single flower, a lily. Rose was so pleased he didn't go for the "give a rose to Rose!" tactic so many had tried and failed with.

"You look beautiful, _Rosa,_" he rolled her name seductively out of his mouth and Rose almost decided they should skip dinner for her bedroom. He kissed her cheek gently, letting his hand linger on the small of her back as he led her to his car, a slick black Audi. Rose wondered what kind of work he did to have such a nice car, but she decided to ignore it; to her, it hardly mattered. He could have a Chevette and she wouldn't care.

As she got inside Masimo's car, Rose caught a quick glance at the omnipresent Chevy SUV across from her house; she briefly worried whether the men inside were troubled by her getting into a handsome stranger's car. She had forgotten to tell Sal what she would be up to, but she doubted that he needed to know all about her life. She accepted Masimo's hand as he helped her into the car and didn't give her uncle's informants another thought.

They arrived without incident; Masimo's driving was as smooth and perfect as he was. They parked and when Rose was fiddling for her cell phone to make sure she remembered it, Masimo had moved to her door to open it for her. She looked up in surprise.

"Oh!" she said, feeling a little unnerved by his manners, but she accepted his hand and let him lead her chivalrously inside.

_Puttanesca's_ was gorgeous on the interior; it reminded Rose of Venice with its worn stone walls and delicately quaint atmosphere. Masimo and the waiter at the front greeted each other and spoke animatedly in Italian (well, is there any other way to speak it?) and the waiter sat the couple at a table near the window. The dim yellow light of the candles everywhere only provided a more romantic feel. Rose was already enjoying herself and they had just sat down.

"Would you like some wine?" Masimo asked, affectionately placing his hand on hers. She blushed lightly and nodded.

A delicious white wine was brought to the table and Masimo proposed a toast. "To your beauty, which rivals the moon and stars," he said, lightly clinking his glass to Rose's.

She couldn't help but laugh as she put the rim of the glass to her lips, taking a small sip. "That's a new one," she said quietly to herself.

"Excuse me?" Masimo asked, not having heard her.

Rose shook her head, setting her glass down. "My supposed good looks have never been the subject of a toast before, that's all," she laughed lightly.

Masimo grinned, again taking her hand and kissing it. "It will be the first of many, _cara._"

Rose blushed and stared into his eyes. "So, when did you move to Gotham?" she asked, trying to keep herself from launching across the table at him.

"A few years ago, to help my uncle with his business. He is alone here, in America," Masimo explained. "But I do have dreams of going back to Italy."

"Where are you from? I've only visited the big cities, but I knew a girl in college from Tuscany."

"I come from Padua," he replied fondly. "It is near Venice."

"Oh, I adore Venice! I visited there one summer in college. It was the best time of my life. I wrote a book about it," she told him. "I think we went through Padua a few times on our way to Rome."

"You write?" Masimo asked, looking very impressed.

Rose nodded. "It was more of a coming-of-age book about college students figuring out what they were about, cliché stuff, but people seemed to love it. I briefly mentioned the surrounding towns around Venice, but I mainly wrote about what I did and saw there. I'm sure Padua is wonderful, though."

"It is very beautiful there," he said, "beautiful weather, beautiful buildings, beautiful women... you would fit in very nicely."

Rose laughed, taking another sip of wine. She still couldn't help but feel strange about receiving so many compliments about her looks. They continued throughout the night, when Masimo told her he wished he could replace the moon with her face so he could have something more beautiful to look at than a large rock. Besides the overwhelming compliments, dinner was perfect. Rose's gnocchi was beyond delicious and Masimo looked more and more attractive as the night went on. She told him about her move to stay in Gotham for a while and mentioned her new novel. She drew lots of inspiration about her life and suddenly found herself making Masimo into a character, to be stored away for later use in another book.

Masimo was, Rose decided, a very interesting person. He had lived in a huge house with his parents, grandmother, and his five brothers and sisters in Padua his entire life, only leaving to go to school in France for two years. He was an artist, but had put his dreams on hold to help his uncle, Giovanni, who had moved to America and was struggling with his small accounting firm. Masimo had a gift for numbers as well as a passion and talent for art, so he helped his uncle get back on his feet and is trying to break onto the American art scene before returning to Padua. Rose was beyond intrigued at his occupational goals, his self-sacrifice for his family, his artistic ability. For the first time in over a year, she was enjoying herself with a man.

Suddenly, the overwhelming urge she felt earlier to invite him to spend the night vanished; she had only seen and heard of relationships that could have blossomed into something wonderful, had physical intimacy not gotten in the way of the emotional. Besides, even though it had been a year, Charles's memory was still burned into her mind, her eyes, her heart, just as profusely as it had been while he was alive. Rose couldn't imagine being with someone else while she was still thought about her husband every day.

When the check came, Rose tried to pay, reminding him that she had asked him out, but he refused. "Please,_cara_, I want to treat you. I must thank you for looking so stunning today."

Rose only rolled her eyes and allowed him to pay, knowing it would be no use to try to change his mind. Then, she thought deviously of another way she could repay him, when they returned to her house. He escorted her to the car and drove her home, light conversation helped Rose's mild panic of whether he expected to come inside for the night. She didn't want to deny him, nor did she want to explain her reasons why; she wasn't sure how men felt about being the first date for a new widow. Rose just hoped Masimo was gentlemanly enough to expect no more than a good night kiss. Before she knew it, they were at her doorstep, Masimo's arm wrapped around her waist.

"Tonight was wonderful, thanks so much," she said happily, but she felt her breath hitch in her throat as Masimo pulled her closer.

"_Rosa, cara,_" he breathed huskily into her ear, his warm breath tickling her neck lightly. "You do me an honor, letting me take you to dinner. And you enjoyed yourself, yes?" he asked, letting his hand caress her cheek lightly. Rose sighed breathily, nodding her head.

"Yes, I did," she whispered back, closing her eyes as their cheeks touched gently. Her hands rested lightly on his chest.

"Then let me see again, soon," Masimo replied, moving his head so he could look into her eyes, sparkling under the streetlight of her stoop.

"Of course," Rose sighed, almost relieved that he didn't mention anything about continuing the night. "I'd like that."

"This makes me happy," he gave a small grin as he pulled their faces closer so that their lips were almost touching. Rose's breath caught in her throat and her eyes closed serenely as she felt his mouth gently caress hers. "_T____esoruccio,__" _he said quietly before finally ending his torture and bringing hips lips to hers.

He kissed her warmly, delicately, softly. Rose finally understood what her friend, Amy, had told her after the first time she spent the night at her Venitian lover's house: Italians really were the best kissers. Rose wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pulling him down closer to her and grasping his soft hair. She sighed, allowing Masimo to deepen the kiss as he ran his hands through her hair. Their embrace lasted a few more euphoric moments, his tongue lightly caressing hers as he cupped her face in his hands. As they parted, Rose sighed happily. Masimo looked at her expression and laughed lightly.

"So beautiful," he whispered, kissing her lightly again, before pulling away for good. "I will call you, Rosa. Please be waiting."

Rose nodded, still tasting the wine from Masimo's tongue on hers. "I will."

"Until later, cara." And he kissed her again on the cheek before turning to walk to his car. Rose stood on her front porch, hand touching her cheek where he kissed it, looking very dumbfounded and spacey. She waved as he looked at her one last time before he got into his car. As he turned the corner, she fiddled with her keys before unlocking her door and walking inside.

She sighed as she walked in a daze through her kitchen, throwing her purse and keys on the kitchen counter. When she arrived in her bedroom, she hardly noticed Atticus scuttle out of the room, obviously having been stuck in there the entire night. Rose fell on her bed, face first, and closed her eyes, very pleased with the results of her date. She kicked off her clothes, trying to throw them into her clothes hamper, but missing. Rose grabbed a long t-shirt that was lying on the floor near her bed and pulled it on. She climbed under her covers and heard both Molly and Atticus mewing at her door, waiting for her approval to join her for bedtime cuddles. She whistled, telling them they were more than welcome, and her eager cats jumped next to her, purring in anticipation of the warmth that was imminent. The cats wiggled their ways under the blankets and Rose stroked their soft fur for a few minutes, before finally succumbing to sleep.

-------------

Okay, so what was all this business about who the ladies want more?

Batman: Well, we thought about what you said...

Joker: ...And we decided that they love us both!

Batman: And we wanted to show you! Through sooonnng!

No, no, no! We don't have time for—oh shit, is that the background music?

Joker: _Ladies love me!_

Batman: _Girls adore me!_

Both:_ I mean, even the ones that never saw me,__  
Like the way that I rhyme at a show,  
The reason why, man, I don't know!  
So let's go cuz..._ (pause, stare at Bonhiver)

(rolls eyes) Ohh, fine..._  
IT TAKES TWO TO MAKE A THING GO RI-IIIIGHT!  
IT TAKES TWO TO MAKE IT OUTTA SIGHT!_  
Don't forget to review! I made this one extra long, so the Joker can be in the next chapter (FINALLY), so préparez-vous! (goes back to dancing)


	7. GRRR, AUTHOR ANGRY!

Oh, good Lord. This is embarrassing. I wrote a new version and thought I'd put that one up and deleted the one I had up a bit earlier, mostly because _that_ version is kind of exactly, and I mean, exactly, like the movie. So I wrote a new version, where the party is Joker-free! So, I thought I deleted the version and put up the one I re-wrote. Turns out it was the other way around. Soooo, bare with me. I'm totally frustrated, having just deleted my newly edited and ready to go Chapter 7, but I guess I messed up.

I'll be posting the new one soon, as soon as I get this frustration outta my system and can focus on rewriting it again! So, I'm REALLY sorry to anyone who read it and liked it or whatever. I just... UGHHH

Batman: (holds out tissues) Let it out, honey. We've all been there!

(smacks tissues away) Fuck that! I need my new chapter!

Joker: (snicker)

And you can shut up, too! This is as much _your_ problem as it is mine! Arrrgh, I could just... blow up Gotham right now!

Joker: Oh re-hee-heeee-ally...?

Oops! I mean... oh, forget it. Look, everyone. I'm gonna go stick my head in an oven or something for a minute, then I'll start powering through this new chapter. It might not be up for a few days now. I'll let you know when it is? Or whatever. (stalks off in anger to the kitchen)

Batman: Should one of us... stop... her?

Joker: Mmm, nah. She'll figure out it's a bad idea in about... 3... 2... 1!

(in the distance) DAMMIT! (stomps back) Okay, I guess I can just go REWRITE THE CHAPTER. Fuckin' A. (stalks off to computer)

Joker: Well, you heard her! She'll have it done in a bit! Now, go away!

Batman: (waves frantically) Byeee!


	8. Hope You'll Guess My Name!

Author's Note:

Hey heyy! It's here, finally! So to those who read the OLD version, it's kind of imperative to read this one and forget what I had before. I'm sorry it took me so long to post this, but I hope you like it!!

**Chapter 7: Pleased To Meet You, Hope You'll Guess My Name**

-----------

It was almost six o' clock when Rose decided to get ready for the gala the next day; Sal had told her he would pick her up at eight o' clock and she wanted to get an early start so she could do something new with her hair, something that matched the elegance of her new gown. She searched the Internet for a new look, wanting to avoid the aged up-do and opting for something more vibrant. She settled with simple straightening her hair, which usually fell a few inches past her shoulders. Rose never complained about her hair; she was gifted with the thick, wavy, tameable hair that everyone dreamed of having, the kind that made Padma Lakshmi that much more enviable. She was extremely pleased with her final look, her hair reaching the middle of her back, which meant it would cover some of the her skin that the gown exposed.

When the limo finally arrived, Rose quickly got in and greeted Sal, Gina, Frankie, and Jean. Even though she still didn't like her aunt and cousins, she was well-taught in the art of fake politeness. She exchanged pleasantries with Gina, who still had no idea of her niece's new occupation, and asked Jean and Frankie about school, to which they both replied, "Fine," giving Rose more reason to believe that it was the complete opposite. But she had no room to judge; whether she liked it or not, Rose was a part of the family. And no matter what kind of fuck-ups or insane blunders they made, she still had to support them.

Rose gaped as she was helped out of the limo by one of Wayne's staff. The gala was being held at his manor outside of the city and it was, in a word, flawless. It was obviously a very new building, but it had the byzantine grandeur that was only found in English country homes, made during the Elizabethan era. There was even the dark appeal of a Gothic church about the manor, the high towers and the figures lurking along the outside walls, as if protecting, watching, scrutinizing.

Sal took his wife's arm and she kissed him delicately on the cheek as the five walked into the mansion. Rose saw Jean and Frankie looking just as impressed with the house, Jean's eyes running greedily and wildly over the excess and wealth the house personified, while Frankie simply stared, awestruck, at nearly everything. Rose was tempted to close his mouth for him to keep him from embarrassing them.

Almost immediately, Sal and Gina saw friends of theirs, leaving Rose with the two brats. Jean gave her a look of, "Well, what now?" while Frankie stood, hands in his pockets, still absorbing his surroundings.

"You can fend for yourselves, yeah?" Rose asked hopefully, wanting to make a quick break to the food table, not having eaten much that day.

Frankie nodded, while Jean's expression never changed. Happily, Rose left the siblings to their own devices. She smiled at Gotham's elite and was suddenly presented with a glass of champagne by one of the waiters. Rose took a sip and was pleased with the taste; but she shouldn't have expected less from a billionaire playboy. Surprisingly, she saw Dr. Baird present, with his wife, Elizabeth, who was a major donor to Wayne Enterprises. She greeted them excitedly, glad to see someone slightly familiar at the party. She continued her way through the throngs of snobs and egoists, finally reaching the buffet table. After taking a few hors-d'œuvres, Rose found her uncle, talking with some very important-looking men.

"Rosie!" Sal raised his glass, signaling for her to approach his party. "Come here, I want you to meet some acquaintances of mine."

_It's always acquaintances, isn't it?_ she thought to herself as she walked towards the group of men. One man had his back facing hers and when Rose approached the gentlemen, he turned as Sal introduced her as "my darling niece, Rose." He was almost too handsome, giving Masimo with all his Italian charm a run for his money. Even with his hair slicked back elegantly, a look Rose usually found unappealing and slimy, he still held an air of class and superiority. In his dignified arrogance, Rose still found him attractive.

"Hi, it's nice to meet all of you," Rose nodded her head in greeting and smiled, mostly at the gorgeous stranger next to her.

"Rosie, this is Ilya Petrovsky," Sal pointed to the oldest in the bunch, before introducing the other suits, Martin Banks, Arlen Williamson, and John Casablancas. They both greeted her politely and she returned pleasantries, before Sal turned her attention to the youngest of the men.

"This is Bruce Wayne, Rose," Maroni said almost smugly, feeling very elite showing off his connections.

Rose grinned more widely than before as she put her hand out for him to shake it. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Wayne. You have a beautiful house."

He surprised her by kissing her knuckle light, almost making her roll her eyes at his antics. "Please, call me Bruce. And thank you, the manor did take quite a long time to build. They certainly don't make houses like this anymore."

"Not at all," she replied, "I just think of a Jane Austen novel when I look around—the high ceilings, the ornate designs on the outside, it's all very stunning, almost ominous. The Eastern Tower practically screams Eastern European Gothic."

Bruce nodded, looking very impressed. "Are you an artist, Rose?" he asked conversationally.

"No, I don't have much talent for visual arts," she laughed, feeling the two of them drifting into their own conversation. "But I did go to undergrad for Art History, so I have more appreciation for it that actual skills. There's such an Elizabethan feel to the mansion."

He chuckled lightly. "You have a very good eye."

"But so do you," she complimented him, "after all, it is your manor. Did you have any hand in the designs?"

"A few," he confessed with a smile, "but it was my father's project; I took over after he died."

"Well, you've done a very good job," Rose replied, feeling a bit like an ass-kiss, but she was telling the truth; the mansion was gorgeous. "I love it."

They both laughed lightly. Rose looked out of the corner of her eye for her uncle, only to see that the rest of their group had left. Bruce noticed as well and shrugged, turning his attention back to Rose. "I guess we bored them."

"My uncle has never been much for architecture," she agreed.

"Yes, he told me you just moved here from New York City after finishing law school," he began, "what do you do now?"

"I'm a writer," Rose said, feeling slightly embarrassed that her uncle had been bragging about her to Bruce Wayne, the guy who made Trump look like a hobo. "I didn't find much use for my law degree. I'm still not sure why I got it in the first place, it doesn't do me much good now."

"There's no shame in working in literature," Bruce said, a mild arrogance present even as he reassured her. "I never had much talent for the arts, myself. I find them fascinating."

"Well, I think anyone can form a skill from the arts just through appreciation," Rose replied mildly. "It takes real skill and knowledge to do what you do, I think. If anyone so much as mentions anything science related, my brain shuts off. I'm clueless with technology."

She and Bruce continued their polite conversation, talking about travel, the casual goings-on in Gotham, and Bruce introduced Rose to some of his party guests, from lawyers who Rose was sure only came to further their own personal status, to Lucius Fox, his business manager and trusted friend. She found herself actually having a good time talking to Bruce Wayne. She had always assumed he was just an arrogant, self-promoting businessman, but he was a very interesting person to behold. While he did have his overly-proud moments, he was overall polite and agreeable. She could tell he enjoyed her company as well. Bruce had been skeptical about inviting Maroni and his family to the gala, as his line of work was no secret, but he had been counseled to do so by his board. But Bruce was pleasantly surprised that Rose was intelligent, pleasant, and modest for being the niece of one of the most notorious crime bosses in Gotham.

"I'm very sorry to interrupt you, sir," said Alfred, Bruce's personal butler, who approached the pair with the utmost dignity, "but Mr. Grove wishes to have a word," he gestured to an older gentleman, standing at the outskirts of the party.

Bruce nodded. "Of course, Alfred," he said before turning to Rose. "It's been wonderful talking to you, please excuse me."

Rose smiled politely. "Not at all, we'll talk later." Bruce returned the smile and went to the corner, where his business associate was waiting, almost impatiently.

"Well, it seems like you've made an impression," Alfred said, surprised.

Rose shrugged. "He's much more interesting than the conceited jerks walking around here," she said, seeing her uncle approaching her with a very wide grin on his face.

The elderly butler only laughed and bowed. "Very true, miss. Now, I must serve said 'jerks' more of the bubbly. Would you like any more before I go to the hounds?"

She smiled and took a glass, raising it in thanks as Alfred walked away. She heard Sal chuckle behind her and she turned around to see her uncle, looking extremely pleased. "What did I tell you, Rosie?" he said bumptiously. "You're a natural. Barely here for ten minutes and you grab the attention of the host. Well done."

Rose shrugged, feeling a little cheap, like she was becoming less of a consigliere and more of a trophy for her uncle to show around. "He's very polite."

"Good to hear, good to hear," he laughed, patting her on the back lightly. "Here, it looks like Gina's getting tired. She's not having as much fun as she thought she would," he pointed to his wife, who stood alone, looking bored and then yawned as if to prove Sal's point. "We're gonna head out. Would you mind helping me find the kids? You can stay, if you want."

"Yeah, I think I will. I'll call the limo when I'm ready to leave." Rose walked away from her uncle, quickly, not wanting to be associated with his overweening presence. She saw Sal and Gina stroll slowly towards the main foyer, where the coat check was.

Rose delicately swerved through the groups of snobs that looked like they belonged in an episode of _Gossip Girl, _searching avidly for her cousins. She reached the other side of the room, still unable to find them. She turned around and around, her search still as fruitless as before. Suddenly, she saw Frankie, waving at her near the buffet. She smiled and walked towards him. "Hey, come on, your dad wants to leave," she said, ushering him ahead of her. "Where's your sister?" she asked quickly, looking over her shoulder in search of the bratty high school senior.

Frankie shrugged. "I dunno, I saw her with some guy we met at the funeral, the Russian guy. They were talking and then they were gone when I turned my back again."

Rose groaned in annoyance and worry. It was that Dmitri Perestrov asshole; he really was looking for a way into the family. She could hardly believe her stupid cousin had let his sister wander away with one of their father's enemies. It was hardly any wonder that Sal was worried about the snot taking over when he died. Rose looked aggravated at Frankie, but then she remembered how sneaky Jean was, especially when it came to things she wanted. Rose remembered one time when Jean had to stay in to finish her college applications instead of going out and she snuck out of her window, shimmied down the drain pipe, and hopped into her friend's Range Rover. Luckily, Rose had seen the car go zooming off and told Sal. The spoiled seventeen year old never forgave her for that.

It wasn't the spiky-haired idiot's fault, Jean was jailbait and had that "up-for-anything-to-make-her-look-older" attitude. Any chance she got with an older, attractive male, she would take.

"Whatever, _you_ go find your dad and tell him what happened," she said quickly.

Rose immediately left her incompetent cousin in search for the other. She swarmed through the throngs of guests, feeling beyond aggravated. Jean would definitely have some trouble explaining this little situation to Sal. The hem of her dress lightly caressed the floor as she spun around, still searching for the Guidette Queen of Gotham.

"Looking for someone?" Rose turned to see Bruce Wayne approaching her, a glass of champagne in hand. She sighed, glad to see a familiar face, but still feeling more exasperated at the current situation. He took notice of that.

"Are you all right?" he asked, concern in his tone. "I saw your aunt and uncle leaving."

Rose nodded. "Well, Gina's getting tired and now _I_ have the unfortunate task of rounding up the kids," she sighed in annoyance. "And apparently, Jean has run off with some Russian pervert."

Bruce laughed at her mini-tirade. "Oh, yes. You mean Dmitri? I wasn't big on inviting him; his reputation certainly precedes him."

"Yeah, I've had the misfortune to learn about it, firsthand. Listen," she began, feeling silly doing this, but knowing it was her only option, "do you think you could help me look for her?" she asked hopefully. "I won't have any luck looking for her by myself and her _brother_ certainly won't be any help." Rose gestured to the hair-gelled wonder boy, munching on snacks, looking just as vacant as usual.

"Of course," Bruce nodded, handing his now-empty champagne glass to a passing waiter. "You can just stay here, I'll go check my surveillance room."

Rose quirked an eyebrow. "Surveillance room?" she echoed in mild surprise. "You're watching all of us?"

"Hey, it wasn't my idea," he defended himself, laughing.

"Fine, fine, whatever," Rose waved it off, smiling. "I'll make my way around the room another eighty times while you go play mall cop."

Bruce only laughed and nodded to her. His walk held so much self-assurance and confidence, Rose noticed; not in the way her uncle would saunter with his cane, acting as though he owned the world. The main difference between Bruce and Sal was that the billionaire had much more reason to be the way he was. He had brought his company back from the brink of bankruptcy and not only that, made it into one of the most successful conglomerations on the globe. But that was besides the point; Rose quickly brought herself back to the World of Lost Cousins and began to survey the room for any extreme hair poofs.

No such luck. She went back to find Frankie still stuffing his face with shrimp cocktail and sneaking sips of wine.

"Hey, why aren't you with your parents?" Rose asked, feeling her irritation grow.

"I'm still hungry," Frankie managed to mutter through his mouth full of seafood. Rose groaned and grabbed his arm, much to his displeasure. A smothered protest of "I'm not done yet!" was all Frankie could do as she dragged him through the crowd of partygoers. Rose knew she was embarrassing her cousin by doing this, but if he was going to be _that_ stupid to lose his sister to the Slavic moron, he deserved it. She loosened her grip when she saw her aunt and uncle waiting at the front door, Gina looking more than irritated.

"Where's Jean?" she asked impatiently. Her eyes were narrowed at her niece, blaming her for the absence of her precious daughter.

"I'm still looking," Rose gritted her teeth, trying not to give her aunt any sort of tone, but failing miserably. "In the mean time, ask your son where she went; he's the last person who saw her."

With that, she stomped off, ignoring Sal's protests for her to come back and tell him what had happened. Maybe it was the combination of booze, fancy food, the irritating company of Gotham's elite, the egotistical actions of her uncle and his infuriating wife, the stupidity of her cousins, and the frustrations of her mother and Charles's deaths that always seemed to come up no matter how hard she tried to suppress them, but Rose couldn't stand being the babysitter to the biggest brat that ever made her family ridiculous. She was ready to go on a rampage throughout the room of guests, shout on an intercom like they did at the mall for lost children, anything.

Thankfully, she turned to the left of the party to see Jean, her hair poof matching the deflated look on her face. Dmitri was behind her, looking angered, and still behind him was Bruce Wayne, this slight inconvenience hardly flustering him. Rose sighed in relief, but mostly exasperation as she walked towards them. She quickly assumed they had been in a compromised position, looking at their appearances. Jean would get no mercy from Rose, nor would that Russian asshole. But Bruce saw her face and walked to reach her first, placing a hand on her shoulder when he saw the look in her eyes at Jean. The furious words died on Rose's lips and she turned to look at Bruce, who had a look of amusement and sympathy.

"He had her cornered, Rose," Bruce explained quietly to the frustrated woman, obviously explaining the situation he found her cousin and the Russian in. "She was trying to get away from him, but he was... well, I'm sure you know what. Go easy on the girl, she didn't know what she was getting into."

Rose's expression immediately softened towards her cousin, who was obviously trying to hide a look of panic. She looked and Bruce and smiled in thanks.

"I guess we'll be leaving now," she said calmly, taking Jean's arm gently. "Thank you, so much for everything. You have no idea."

He smiled back, patting her shoulder. "It's not a problem." He started to turn away, but he reached into the lapel pocket of his tux, to pull out a small white card. "If you're ever downtown, look me up."

Rose looked surprised as she took the card from his hand. "Umm, sure. That'd be great," she said, feeling a light blush come into her cheeks. "I'll... um, I'll see you later, Bruce."

"I'll make sure of it," he assured her. "Take care, Rose, Jean." He nodded politely to the still-shaken teenager before walking back to his party guests.

Dmitri, who was still standing in his original spot, looked up at Rose and Jean, his cross façade still present. He went to open his mouth, but Rose beat him to it.

"Don't you say a fucking _word,_ Perestrov," poison dripped from her voice as she spoke, her eyes mere slits. "If you come anywhere near me or anyone in the Maroni family, _especially_ Jean," Rose nodded to her cousin, "I'll chop your balls off and make you eat them. You'll be the only Perestrov to have his own cock up his asshole, when I'm through with you, guaranteed. I'll make you wish you hadn't ever been born if you come near us again. And that's just me. Wait until you see what my uncle can come up with," she warned darkly. "Don't ever fuck with me or my family again, you Russian dick. You got me?" She raised an eyebrow as she seethed, lips thin with rage that threatened to burst if he so much as challenged her with a response.

Luckily for him, Dmitri only nodded, a look of fear flashed in his eyes, and he walked quickly to the coat room, realizing he had overstayed his welcome at the gala.

Rose sighed and rubbed her forehead, feeling a terrible migraine coming on. She turned to her cousin, who was staring at Rose in pure admiration and wonder. "You ready?" Rose asked, her tone much lighter than it had been only moments ago.

Jean only nodded in response and the two walked calmly to find Sal, Gina, and Frankie, all waiting anxiously. Gina, of course, went running to her daughter and hugged her viciously. "Oh, thank God! Where the hell did you go, huh??"

"Rose helped me get away from that Russian asshole, what's-his-name," Jean said and Rose was almost certain that was the longest sentence she had heard from her cousins since she had known her.

Gina looked incredulously at her niece, completely knocked for six that the little nuisance from Washington had actually done something... useful. But instead of saying any words of thanks or apology, she turned away from Rose and walked her children to the limo. Sal, however, stayed behind.

"Well, that was quite some thing you did there, Rosie," he sounded very pleased. "I'm proud of you."

"Thanks," Rose sighed. "And next time you want to ask me to 'round up the kids,' just don't."

Sal laughed heartily at his niece's humor. "I'll keep that in mind," he patted her on the back. "Now, let's get out of here."

----------

Rose found Sal trusting her more and more after the incident at Wayne Manor. He let her handle much bigger cases in their business, like calling in favors and training some of the new recruits. The only break from working that Rose had had over the past few weeks had been another dinner date with Masimo, after he begged her after one of their late-night phone conversations.

She finally saw an interrogation take place between some of the fat cats and a squealer. As much as it shook her to see Sal so cruel, so enraged, she found herself getting over it rather quickly. She could barely remember the asshole's name anymore—Roger, maybe? Either way, he would be drinking through a straw for the rest of his life, thanks to Sal and his interrogation partner, Marty "Fast Hands". Rose could tell where he got the name.

Rose was finally finding this new "occupation" a success. Despite the illegality of it all, she was enjoying herself, forgetting about the many criminal offenses she was a part of. She liked what she did, where she sat in the business, as well as her benefits. And she wouldn't give that up for anything.

But one day, Rose found herself in a very different position.

"You're gonna be handling this trade off," Sal told her as they rode in his limo to the deserted site outside of Gotham.

"Wait, are you serious?" Rose was beyond shocked. She knew about this client, some Colombian dealer who had risked his fucking neck to get these kilos of cocaine to the Maronis. She knew how many other crime families around the _nation_ who had wanted to make this deal with the guy, how Sal had been the only one to so much as interest the extremely picky drug lord, and how the cops had been trying to sniff out this operation for weeks, but had no such luck.

Sal nodded, taking a sip of his scotch. "I think you've seen it enough to be able to handle this. Besides, it'll be good practice for later."

Rose furrowed her brow in confusion, dreading and wanting what she was positive her uncle was about to announce. "Later? What's later?"

"I've been doing a lot of thinking, kid," he began and Rose could feel her heart beating at about a million miles a second as he spoke. "I've been thinking that... well, you've been doing some great work. You've only been working for me for six months and you're more of a natural than _I_ was at your age. And I don't say that without some difficulty, Rosie. You know how seriously I take myself in this business." He paused, Rose thought just for emphasis, to make this moment even greater and elongated that it needed to be. "But, I ain't immortal, especially with Gordon and half of Gotham after me. I just want you to know that... well, I'll be naming you as my, uh, next-in-line to take over. You're the best man—I mean, woman, for the job."

Rose could barely formulate a sentence. She merely stared out the window, eyes wide, mouth slightly open in the shock this caused. She looked back at Sal, who seemed to understand her surprise. He seemed very pleased with himself; he knew he had caught her off-guard with this sudden news. Not only would his niece be taking over one of their biggest drug deals yet, she would be the next boss once he stepped down.

"Oh... um, I mean," Rose stumbled over her words, "I don't, really, well... I don't know what to say."

"I get you, Rosie," Sal smiled. "I was the same way. I doubt I'll be going down any time soon, so you've got some time to get used to this, but always remember: be prepared."

Rose nodded, a small smile creeping onto her face. "I will. Thanks, Uncle Sal."

He raised his glass in congratulations and took a small sip, toasting to her. Rose felt a strange combination of elation and terror run through her as she turned to look out the window.

Sal knew what he was doing, too, by throwing all this information at Rose so suddenly. He wasn't an idiot; something was changing in his niece. That was why he kept two of his men, usually used for kidnapping enemies, to keep an eye on his estranged sister's daughter. But she had proved herself to be diligent, rarely distracted, and sharp—much sharper than he had originally thought and would ever admit to her being. Rose, whether she liked it or not, was a more advanced version of Sal when he was her age.

But there was something, a score, he had to settle with an old "friend". And he knew that if it was going to work, he wanted—no, _needed_—Rose to do it. She was essential. This had been his plan for almost a month, just before the Wayne Gala. It hadn't worked out the way he had planned, but it would happen. And then, finally, Sal would be supreme again. No police commissioner or mayor could stop him, not even Batman.

Salvatore Maroni would rule Gotham City.

If Rose hadn't been so preoccupied with staring out the window at passing cars on the highway, something she simply _loved_ to do, she wouldn't have missed the scheming grin on Sal's face.

----------

Rose went over the plan again and again in her mind as she shifted into fourth gear. _Drive to the docks. Wait until sundown. Get out of car with suitcase. Find the Colombian (What's his name, again? Ohh, shit shit shit—wait! Jorge Gonzalez! Yeah, Gonzalez). Present money. See the goods. Quick exchange. Put the goods in trunk's hidden compartment. Drive off. Go to hideout. Present Sal with goods. Big hero, victory party, fifty virgins,_ she joked to herself to calm her nerves as she approached the docks.

For the most part, they were deserted, all of the Asian shipments had already come in very early that morning and no more were expected until the next day. Rose looked at the fluorescent green light on the dashboard. **6:39**, it read. It was already getting dark, the sun finally lowering over the horizon. Rose found herself smoking a cigarette, something she rarely did, except for relaxing herself in extremely stressful situations. And this certainly was a time when the nicotine would cool her jets. She took a swig from her cup of tea she'd bought on the way over and decided after a few minutes, it was certainly dark enough to initiate Phase 3: Get out of car with suitcase.

She quickly went around to the trunk of the old Honda, lifted the hatchback, and pulled out a worn-looking brown leather suitcase. Rose felt a bit like one of her mother's associates as they would stalk into the courtroom, vicious, predator-like, ready to protect human rights and persecute their opponents to the full extent of the law.

_The law,_ Rose thought callously. She had become the opposite of what her mother had raised her to be. Sure, Rose still had the ability to tell what she was doing wasn't Kosher, but it had become so normal, so ingrained into her life and mind ever since her mother died, that it barely phased her anymore. It was almost like second nature to be involved in such a felonious life. And the strange part was, it hardly bothered her.

The crackling of gravel nearby caused Rose to whip her head around, bringing her hand almost instinctively for the gun Sal had given to her for protection. There he was; Rose had seen his picture. It was Gonzalez, one large suitcase in hand and a duffle strapped to his shoulder, as he approached Rose. She still kept her hand on her gun, in the off chance he would turn on her.

"You are... with Maroni, yes?" asked the man as he came within a yard of Rose. He seemed just as concerned about being double-crossed, hand resting inside his large dress coat, obviously gripping some kind of automatic weapon.

Rose nodded slowly. "I'm here to, um, make the deal," she said, knowing how lame and inexperienced she sounded, but she hadn't even thought about what she would say to a huge drug lord while she made the exchange. "Do you have the goods?" she shot back, keeping her eyes locked on Gonzalez's hidden hand.

The man nodded, raising one suitcase in gesture. "_Sí._"

Rose bit the inside of her cheek, unsure of how to proceed. "Is it all there?"

"All 650 kilos," he assured her. "And the money is...?"

"Accounted for." Rose nodded swiftly.

The man seemed very pleased, licking his lips in a greedy manner. "Good, very good. So now we, switch?" he drawled in his thick Latino accent.

Rose shrugged, looking as immodest as she could, trying to give the air of having done this before. "Show me what's in the bags, first," she told him sharply, suddenly remembering what Sal had said to her: "The man's good, but don't let him pull a fast one. Always see the product before you make the trade-off."

Gonzalez set the duffle down and opened the suitcase, unzipping it a bit, then pulled out a bag of fine white powder. Rose had never touched the stuff before, let alone seen it in such large quantities, even through college, so seeing just a kilo was more than a reality shock. He dug his hand into his pocket and pulled out a switchblade. _That_ hardly surprised Rose; she had seen _Blow_ enough times. Gonzalez stuck the knife into the plastic, dragging it through only a few centimeters, before using the knife to dig through it. Rose approached him slowly to survey the substance. She had seen it once or twice in the presence of Sal and his associates, so when she saw the grainy matter, she seemed satisfied.

"Fine, looks good to me," she nodded.

Gonzalez placed the duct tape back over the hole of the bag and zipped the suitcase. Rose, eager to get this little transaction over with but still wary of the situation, handed him the old suitcase gingerly, before quickly grabbing the suitcase and duffle. The Colombian took a quick peak inside of the valise and after looking pleased at the contents, shook hands with her after she had brought the extremely heavy bags closer to her.

"_Gracías, señor,_" Rose said politely, going off what minuscule Spanish she knew.

"And to you," Gonzalez replied, "give my best to Maroni."

He quickly turned around and walked back into the darkness to leave Rose alone with the travel luggage. She sighed loudly and lit another cigarette before loading the suitcases into the hidden compartment of the car's trunk. She felt her hands still shaking as she opened the front door to her car and sat down. After starting a new cigarette, she turned the key in the ignition and began to drive off, to the hideout Sal and his gang frequented in the Narrows.

Rose felt a sudden rush of exhilaration as she drove down the deserted highway. She had done it! Not only was she to become the next Don (or Dona?) of the family, she had successfully, singlehandedly completed her first drug deal—and it was a big one, too. She turned on the radio to celebrate, her mind feeling much less jumbled tan before. Pleased to hear Lady GaGa's voice permeate the old speakers, she took a long drag from her Malboro Light and sang along as she continued down the expressway.

Flashing lights came into Rose's rearview mirror and all happiness and zen-like calmness she had felt went flying out the window with the ashes of her cigarette. The police. The blue and red dominated her vision along with the bright white lights of the cruiser. Her stomach lurched and she almost felt like vomiting. Looking down frantically at the speedometer, she saw she was driving 63 mph in a 65-zone. That only further served to terrify her; somehow, that cop _knew_ what she had just done, she was sure of it.

_Calm yourself,_ she tried to still her hysterical psyche as her eyes flashed between the rearview mirror and the windshield. _Maybe he wants to get around you? Just pump the brakes and move _slowly..._ over to the edge of the road and the car will just continue on its merry way._

But it was just as she feared; no such luck.

The police car slowed down with her and pulled over to the side of the highway, letting a few cars pass them. Rose pulled up her park brake, looked frantically for the registration of the car, made sure her seatbelt was buckled, turned off the radio, and heavily inhaled more nicotine. She dared to look back at the police car; she felt like the officer was calling her bluff, trying to see if she would jump out of the car, rip open the trunk and show him the kilos and kilos of the white powder, confessing and begging for mercy. But Rose gripped the steering wheel tightly as she saw there were two officers, both most likely male. The driver turned to the other and said something as he opened his car door. The slam as he closed it was in time to the fierce pounding of Rose's heart as he stalked slowly towards the Honda. His eyes were hidden by the brim of his police hat and the darkness of the night covered the rest of his face. Rose forced herself to loosen her hands from the steering wheel and brought them to her lap.

_Calm. The. Fuck. Down,_ she demanded of herself, but was finding it nearly impossible. This was it for her, the end of the line. She was fucking done for, no doubt about it. She wouldn't be able to explain the drugs, she would end up confessing. She just had to promise not to turn in Sal or his other guys, that much was clear. If somehow, she got out of this mess, she most certainly didn't want the most powerful mob boss in Gotham City after her.

"Miss, would you mind, uh, opening the window?" came the gravely voice of the police officer, slightly muffled by the glass.

Rose quickly complied, her mind and heart racing at the same speed, trying to keep her from spilling the beans, to formulate a lie that could get her out of this terrible situation, to make her function like nothing had been wrong. She couldn't even look the man in the eyes as he bent down to stare at her.

The officer showed his badge in a conventional manner, like he was so bored with the process it didn't even occur to him that he was going through the actions. "I'm Officer Kerr," he said in a deadpan tone. "I was curious if you knew how _fast_ you'd just been going?"

Rose knew they would pull her over for that; cops were always using "speeding" as their reasonable cause to get their man. But she still turned to look disbelievingly at the officer. She didn't get a chance to see him, however, his flashlight suddenly blinded her as she went to gape at him. Momentarily, she was blinded.

"I need an answer," Kerr repeated, more forcefully that time. "Do you know. How fast you were going." That time it was more of a statement, a command that Rose reply instantly.

She did. "I thought I was driving under the limit, officer," she said, surprised at how calm and nonchalant her voice sounded, completely hiding the fear she felt.

"Our radar gun told me diff-erently, miss," the cop sneered. "According to _my_ calculations," he hissed sardonically, "you were going at, ah, 89 miles. Seems a little too fast, doesn't it?" His enunciation of the "t" gave Rose a chill.

Still, she squinted her eyebrows in disbelief. "I'm sorry," she scoffed, "but with all due respect, that's ridiculous. I've gone over 90 before and I wasn't anywhere near that."

"What's your name, miss?" the officer said in a dark tone, bringing the light closer to her face.

She winced at her stupidity. Never, ever challenge a police officer when he's pulled you over. "Rose Rainier, sir."

"Ms. Rainier, may I see your license and registration?"

Rose dug into her pocket, beyond thankful to whatever force that made sure she had brought her license with her, something she rarely did. She handed the man the paperwork. He took it, keeping his light on her as he glanced at both. Rose heard the crackle of his spit as he licked his lips; she shuddered.

"Nice picture," the man said callously, his voice giving Rose the image of his cruel smirk as he looked at the picture. "So, you're from the Big App-le, eh?"

"I live there now, yes," her voice began to shake as the officer taunted her.

"Then what brings such a pretty young thing like yooou," he drawled, "out into our _fair_ city of Gotham?"

"A funeral," Rose said simply, knowing that a lie there was out of the question.

"And who is, ah, Frank Costello?" Kerr asked.

_Costello was the squealer,_ Rose suddenly remembered, a flash in her mind showed her the tortured face of the man, lying on the ground, struggling to breath as she left with her uncle and his associates from the warehouse.

"My... my uncle," she lied quickly. "I'm here for his funeral."

"Innnteresting," was his only reply and suddenly, he was stalking back to his cruiser, probably to process her license and .

_Oh, great, my uncle gives me Costello's car, that was _really_ smart,_ she thought angrily._ Well, I played it off well enough, so I can just say none of this is mine. I don't know about secret compartments, I don't know shit! I'm Costello's niece, it's not a big deal. Stay calm._

Rose felt herself sweating profusely as she sat waiting for the officer to return. She gave up on the cigarettes to calm her down; she knew that if she was in any kind of trouble with this officer, nothing would soothe her manic worry. A brief moment passed when she considered hitting the gas to escape, but she knew it would end in her getting slammed against the hood of her car, then thrown into jail on about fifty felony charges. _Well, wouldn't that just be the icing on the cake of a great year,_ she thought sardonically.

This time around, the officer barely made her wait. He was back at her car window, flashlight in hand, after barely two minutes in the car.

That was oddly suspicious to Rose. After watching her dad get pulled over for his terrible road rage many times, she knew it took officers at the least, five minutes to process the plates and license of the car and driver in question.

But she didn't have any time to question it further. The Kerr glared the flashlight into her face in a manner that reminded her of an interrogation room at a precinct.

"Ms. Rainier, I'm going to have to ask you to step out of the car," he demanded, his voice gruff and an octave lower. The previous timbre of his voice, the gravely taunting and twisted playfulness, was gone. His tone was dry as the constant wetting of his lips was no longer incorporated into his speech. Even in that one sentence, the cop had lost all emotion, strictly commanding this task. That only served to scare Rose more.

She didn't bother asking his motives, quickly unbuckling her seatbelt and opening the door as the cop stepped back. When she stood, her eyes caught a glimpse of the man's name tag in the dim moonlight.

His first name, Joe, was all she saw, before the officer had her back pinned against the car. She shouted in surprise and the slight pain of the steel digging into her spine. Her vision was blurred, as the proximity of the cop's face to hers made it impossible, yet again, to see her. His eyes, as far as she could tell, were narrowed, his lips thin, his brow furrowed.

"So, anything in-ter-est-ing in the trunk?" His previous tone had returned, but with more ferocity. Rose could feel his stale breath wafting into her nose as her heart was suddenly doing double overtime.

Her voice shook as she replied, "W-what?"

Officer Kerr cackled almost maniacally at her. "Don't play _dumb_ with me," he said in a sinister tone. "We, ah, saw you down at the docks. You and Mr. Slick were havin' a li-ttle party, weren't ya? What're you planning on _doing_ with all the blow?"

Rose's brow furrowed as he spoke. She had heard that voice before, she realized suddenly. She couldn't place where, but it certainly was familiar. That terrible laugh triggered a synapse in her brain, she was trying to make the other click to jog the memory.

The sound of the other officer climbing out of the cruiser made her more nervous. _Oh God, what's gonna happen to me now?_ she worried, trying to wriggle out of Kerr's grasp.

"It's not mine," she said quickly, eyes darting to the other cop, who looked just as nasty as the one holding her down sounded.

The first officer scoffed at her, knowing just how ridiculous she sounded. "I know _tha**t**_," he drawled and the sound of his cheeks being sucked in followed his statement. "We're just wondering what Maroni plans to do with it once you deliverrrr."

Rose's eyes certainly widened at that statement. How in the hell did these two-bit highway cops know about her uncle's drug deal? Thoughts raced in her mind when she thought about the trouble she and the entire Maroni family were now in with the legal system. She didn't say anything to reply, which only egged on Officer Kerr.

"Look," he began, licking his lips before continuing, "I'm trying to, ah, help you_._ I know this wasn't _your_ idea. Just... help us find your uncle and we'll be on our way."

_Shit, now I'm in for it,_ she swore mentally, her eyes darting all around, trying to think of some escape tactic.

"No use trying anything, sweetheart," Kerr's partner laughed, sensing her trepidation. "You ain't goin' nowhere."

Rose realized they were both right; she could try to reach for the gun in her coat pocket, but now she had another cop on her; there was no way she could get it out without being seen. Not to mention, Officer Kerr had her pressed up against the car really—

_Wait. Officer Kerr? _

Joe_ Kerr?_

_Oh my God._

The man holding her against the car noticed her breath catch in her throat, like she just realized in panic that would be her last. She had finally figured it out. Rose could almost feel the grin spread on his face as he stepped back from her, releasing her from his grip.

The moonlight finally revealed the face he had kept hidden so well. The ghastly pale paint only accentuated the charcoal black around his eyes. His chemical green hair was concealed for the most part under his police hat, but Rose could see strands of it in the illumination of the night. His lips were marked by a devilish red slash, giving him a permanent smile in the grease paint. But under the disguise, on his lips, were the scars. They were vicious—jagged, raised, menacing, twisted into a fiendish grin—the worst Chelsea Smile she had ever seen.

The Joker.

He shrugged in indifference at Rose's petrified astonishment. "Sorry to disappoint, but I won't be taking you downtown." His hands lightly caressed the handcuffs on his waist. "Well, unless you want me to," he added, his mouth twisting demonically as his tongue darted out in a snake-like manner.

Rose was so scared she could barely comprehend what he was saying. "Wh-what?"

The demonic clown sighed in annoyance. "You'd think Maroni's kid would be better at listening." His accomplice snorted in response to the joke. "Listen, uh, Rose. It is Rose, isn't it?" He raised an eyebrow and titled his head, but gave her no room to respond. "I really didn't _want_ to do this, believe me. But your unclllle," he growled menacingly, "really did me in last year." He changed his dark demeanor suddenly to one that almost reminded Rose of the despondent mimes she had seen once in Paris. "It really hurt my feelings. I thought we were friends," he practically pouted in a mocking tone, before taking his knife out of his pocket. He brought it close to Rose's face, her eyes widening as the blade gleamed in the night. The Joker took notice.

"You seem a little nervous," he almost sounded concerned. "Is it the scars?"

"No, it's the knife you're waving right in front me," she spat back, trying to hide the fact that she was terrified beyond the capacity she thought she had.

He looked down at his blade and giggled wildly. "Oh, yeah! Forgot about thaaaat." He held the blade in his hand almost lovingly, while the weight of his body and the other arm were more than enough to keep Rose pinned against the car. Suddenly, the knife was against her cheek, the cool metal against her intensely hot face. The Joker did it with such nonchalance, Rose couldn't help but wonder fearfully how many times he had done something like this before.

"What do you want with me?" she said quietly, looking his straight in the eyes. "I'm nothing, really. Just—"

"Rosie, I already _told_ you," he cut her off, the knife leaving her face to return to his belt. "Your listening skills could use some wor_k_. I'm after Salll," he continued, licking his lips deviously. "I just need some... lev-er-age. That's where you come in!" He spoke as if he were congratulating Rose for winning some kind of prize.

"Well, good luck," she replied, praying this lie wouldn't be her last. "I'm not much help with anything; he barely tells me anything."

Rose could tell as the words left her mouth, the Joker didn't believe them for a second. He raised an eyebrow, hidden as it was in the darkness of his eye paint. "So he sends you to collect his biggest drug trade in _years_? C'mon, doll. What are you," he giggled before he finished, "_JOKING_??"

The Joker's accomplice laughed behind him at the joke. Rose could tell it was forced; it was probably in the job description for being a lackey to laugh at their employer's attempts at humor.

Before she could say anything else, however, the sound of a gunshot filled the air. Rose jumped as she saw the Joker rip his gun out of its sheath and turned it on the other "cop." The stale laughter ended with a grunt and the impact of the man falling to the ground. Rose felt whatever color was left in her face leave as the Joker returned his attentions to her.

"Sorry about that," he grinned wildly. "I never liked him much, anyway." He gestured to the body, a pool of blood beginning to form around it.

Rose couldn't help but stare in horror. She knew what he was trying to do; the only thing that made her angry was the fact that it was working.

"I'm not gonna fight you on this," he hissed the final syllable of his sentence. "Either you can, uh, hop in the cruiser with me and we can work something out or," he said with more dark menace. "You can, uh, you can just... _go_." He waved his hands in gesture of shooing. He suddenly stepped back, loosening his grip, and raising both his arms as the two options he gave. "What'll it be?"

Rose knew he wouldn't let her go without a fight. She was never one to back down in the face of intimidation or being victimized. It was just difficult to regain her courage and take control of the situation. It was obvious he would follow her if she ran away. But at that moment, all she wanted to do was jump into the car and drive until she reached New York and stay there forever, forgetting the events after her mother's death, everything to do with Gotham, with Sal, with the mob, and picking up right where she left off.

Suddenly she felt her left arm extending, hand balling into a fist and connecting with the Joker's face. It surprised her more than it did him. But Rose knew the few seconds he was distracted were her only chance; she opened her car door. Behind her, the Joker's head swung back at the force of her punch. It hardly phased him, though. He was used to physical abuse—in fact, he encouraged it, reveled in it. So as he quickly recovered, he saw Rose jump frantically into her car. He lunged at her with a low growl.

The door never closed.

Somehow, Rose knew she wouldn't have gotten away. If the Joker had singlehandedly killed Commissioner Loeb, Judge Surrillo, and destroyed so much of Gotham, physically and mentally, then surely she was a cake walk. But the fear and adrenaline still pumped through her veins when the Joker grabbed the door and ripped it open. He was much stronger than he looked.

Rose tried crawling backwards to the passenger seat when he went to grasp her arm. He only laughed and brought his hands around one of her legs and began pulling her out. She yelled, trying to escape his grasp, but he was unshakable.

In a last desperate attempt, Rose used her other leg and kicked up. She felt it hit her target and heard the crunching of her shoe hit the Joker's face. And still he continued to haul her out. She caught a glimpse of his eyes as she fought to release herself. They were darker than she remembered, wide with rage and determination as he yanked and pulled.

She fell out of the car and onto the ground harshly, a tangle of limbs and hair. The Joker stood above her, the moonlight surrounding his head—a grotesque version of an angel, blood pouring from his nose, mixing with the paint on his face, making him look more horrifying than before. Rose saw his knife glint at his side and grew more nervous at what he might do.

"You like to play _rrrrough_ I see," the Joker cackled as he approached her. Rose couldn't make a move back to her car and realized how stupid she was for not using her gun when she'd had the chance.

But there really was no room for a mental chastisement. Before Rose could do anything, she heard the swish of the knife slice through the air and braced herself for the metallic agony that was sure to follow. Instead, she felt a dull pain in her head, then nothing.

-------------

When I wrote this, I had a flash of little Suzie Who when Rose put Joe and Kerr together. "You're the.. the..."

Joker: Wow, that would've sucked.

Batman: How many holiday movies did you watch??

I lost count. But I did see _A Christmas Story_ for the first time ever. I got some seriously good haul, too! Thanks, Joker! (points to the mountain of clothes and shoes)

Batman: Hey, what about the mittens I knit for you??

Oh, err... they're... really, nice? …Thanks.

Batman: (beams in happiness)

Sooo, I hope you guys liked this! Again, I'm sorry it took me so long to post, the holidays came up and bit me in the ass. Let me know how you feel about it! I was so iffy about it (still am) and I can't decide if I like it or not? But, after the last debacle, I like this version much better.


	9. Wicked Games

Author's Note:

Errrr, I don't have very much to say. It's been a busy week or so and probably will continue to be with classes starting up again, _so_ chapters won't be popping up as frequently. (sad face) BUT, I do have this one and a few more that just need some editing.

Soo, here you are! Enjoy!

---------------

**Chapter 8: Wicked Games**

Rose awoke to the sound of police sirens pounding in her head. She felt herself being jerked back and forth in what she assumed was the back seat of the police cruiser. She was handcuffed. Her coat was gone, and her gun along with it. Everything was dark—the Joker obviously had no desire of her seeing where he was taking her. She was blindfolded. Her head was pulsing, still sore from the force of the gun handle against the crown of her head. But all the constraint, the ignorance of her current location, even the throbbing pain in her head, hardly phased her. At that moment, Rose had no desire to speak, to struggle, to fight. She was tired, physically and emotionally. So, she rode the rest of the car ride silently, the only sounds in her presence were the quiet mumbles of her captor, who drove furiously, and the wail of the sirens.

After a few minutes the constant shriek of the police cruiser were silenced, probably to keep from drawing too much attention to its position. Rose could tell they had turned off the highway, where the stolen cruiser was being searched for, and the Joker probably didn't need to become a distraction in their new domain.

Rose was thankful for the end of the siren's noise, but it seemed to take away the edge, the rush of her kidnapping. But the silence was deadening, discomforting—the deep breath of calm before a wild storm. Rose sat, beginning to feel a newer, more profound terror consume her. This was different, much worse than before when she was on the side of the freeway, because now, she was physically helpless to do anything. When she felt the car take a rough right turn and begin to slow down, she knew they had arrived at the Joker's hideout.

The car stopped and Rose heard the Joker opening and closing his door. There was a moment when she thought he would leave her in the car, but no such luck. He ripped open her door and Rose could hear the demented excitement with which he spoke to her.

"Heeere, we are!" he professed, pulling her roughly out of the car. Despite her weakened state, she still put up a fight and could tell it was finally starting to annoy the clown-faced criminal. He pulled the blindfold more tightly around her head, making sure she couldn't see where she was being taken.

"Look, Rose," he began as he pushed her forward, making her walk. "I don't want you here anymore than _you_ wanna be here. But Sal really put me in a pickllllle last year. I need a little... a little _help_ from the inside. Let's just say you're, uh, handling some of his unfinished business-ah!"

She didn't say anything, only letting him push her into a building. She heard more feet joining her and the Joker, realizing his other cronies must have been waiting for them to return. He handed her off to them, saying that if they spoke to, touched, or hurt her at all, he'd feed them to his dogs. They did their boss's will, keeping silent as they led her up flights of stairs, through a series of rooms, and finally, stopping. Rose blinked as her blindfold was taken off, adjusting her eyes to the relative light of the moon coming through the window. She noticed she was in what looked like an abandoned apartment building, the tenth floor. One of the masked men opened a door that led into what had already been a dingy, dirty apartment, but after the building had been condemned had become even more desolate than before. She was pushed roughly through a kitchen and living room, down a hallway, and to another door. One crony opened it and another pushed her inside, then turned on the lights.

Rose turned around, demanding, "Where the hell am I?" but her only reply was the slamming of the door and the sound of locks being turned, obviously to make sure she couldn't get out. She looked around, finding a rusty wrought-iron daybed with very dirty looking sheets. A lone lightbulb swung hypnotically from the ceiling as the only source of light. The small window on the wall opposite the door had been boarded up. She noticed a red blinking light near the ceiling and looked up, to see the light of a security camera winking at her, its dark lens an extension of the Joker's fathomless eyes. There was a door, slightly off its hinges that revealed a small bathroom. A folding chair was placed against the wall, near the locked door. The room also had a small closet, with one old-looking dress inside. Rose was wearing a formal outfit, what she supposed was female mobster attire: tights, heels, and a formfitting dress under her long coat. She looked down at her outfit and decided that the hideous dress was her best and only option to stay comfortable in her confinement. She surveyed the bathroom with disgust, noticing the mildew and crust all over the walls, a filthy mirror and sink, and a toilet that made Rose long for the days of chamber pots.

It was a far cry from her apartment in New York or Gotham—a far cry from any place she had ever stayed. But she told herself she wouldn't let these shortcomings break her; she wouldn't let the Joker get the better of her. She would persevere and she _would_ get out of this mess.

She just didn't exactly now how.

-----------

The next morning (she could tell by the yellow light escaping through the cracks of the boards on her window), Rose awoke to the sound of her door being unlocked. She braced herself, but then immediately forced herself to relax, not letting herself show any fear to her captor. But it hadn't been the Joker, just two of his masked henchmen. One was wielding a bag and plastic cup of coffee from McDonald's, the other a gun, probably in the off chance that she tried anything funny. The first unfolded the chair and placed the food down, telling her, "The Boss wants to make sure you eat," before he and his partner left just as quickly as they came, locking the door.

Rose felt confused that he would be feeding her, but then again, a starved hostage isn't as easy to deal with as a well-fed one, even if the food came from McDonald's. But she certainly wasn't complaining as she kneeled in front of the chair, feeling her hunger getting the best of her. She inhaled the smell of grease and opened the bag to find two Egg McMuffins and two hash browns. She snorted ironically; McMuffins were the only thing she ate at McDonald's. She sighed as memories of childhood came to her, eating half of the sandwich with her mom, sitting on the swivel chairs at their local McDonald's, just a few blocks from their house in Chevy Chase. They would stare outside at the crowds of businessman and politicians walking by, laughing at the particularly frazzled ones, making up stories about them all. When she sunk her teeth into the warm English muffin, nothing else seemed to matter but devouring the breakfast sandwich and its twin, despite the sodium and saturated fat she knew she was consuming.

When she finished and put all of the trash in the bag and on the floor, unsure of what to do with it, she went back to sit on the bed. It was extremely uncomfortable, but she would live. She hardly had time to recuperate from her last visitors before the door opened again, this time to reveal the Joker in all his infernal glory, purple suit, clown makeup, and all, carrying an old dusty duffle bag. He grinned wildly at her as he entered and threw the bag on the ground carelessly. He moved the folding chair closer to her bed and sat on it backwards. He rested his face on his hands and sighed happily.

"Well, hey there!" he said enthusiastically, as if greeting an old friend.

Rose didn't bother saying anything, not wanting to give him the satisfaction, but not wanting to anger him, either. She merely stared at him, waiting for him to finish.

He titled his head down and staring up at her. "Looks like _someone's_ a little upset with me, huh?"

"You could say that," she shot back, arms crossed in front of her.

He winced, feigning guilt. "Listen, Rosie, it's nothing personal," he reasoned, "your uncle and I, ah, just have a few things to settle. But I can't seem to find him, so I was hopiiiinggg," he stretched out, "that you could... help me in that departmen-_tah_."

She huffed. "Well, did you check his _house_? You know, where he lives and everything?" she asked conspicuously.

"Of _course_ we did!" he laughed, nonplussed by her blatant questioning of his criminal intelligence. "But don't ya think that when you didn't show up for your little, ah, meeting, that he'd stick around in his hummmmble abode?"

"Well, search me." Rose shrugged, still glaring at the Joker. "I don't know where he goes when Insane Clown Posse rejects are after him."

He sighed sadly. "Well, I guess we'll just have to keep you here for a while longer, at least until your, ah, me-mo-ry comes back to you," he said in a detached tone.

Rose just rolled her eyes. _Well, _duh,_ you're not just gonna let me go after less than twelve hours, you goon,_ she thought angrily.

At her silence, he stood up, slamming the chair against the wall. He winced sarcastically at the sound of metal hitting the foundation. "Oops," he laughed, sounding like a little child who had just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"Well, Rosie," he turned back to the woman who sat stiffly, trying and failing to hide the slight fear in her eyes, "whenever you feel like talking again, you just talk right into that camera," he pointed to the one in the corner and spun on his heel to walk out, but made a 360, facing her again.

"Oh, I almost forgot." He strolled over to the duffle bag he had thrown on the floor and picked it up. He tossed it onto her bed. "I stopped by your apartment while you were sleeping and picked up some clothes and few other things for you. As lovelyyy as that dress was," he licked his lips in memory of her figure in the ensemble, which scared and repulsed Rose, "I thought you'd want something to, ah, change into. Though, I see you've taken matters into your own hands," he giggled at her drab, faded ensemble, a far cry from what she had been wearing before. "Black really doesn't suit you," he told her as he finally slammed the door and did all the eight of the locks (Rose counted).

She looked skeptically at the bag, but when she didn't hear the ticking she was so worried about coming from the duffle, she un-zippered it. Rose felt almost scandalized at this new development; obviously, the Joker was willing to play the "good cop, bad cop" routine. First, capture her and demand information, then give her a few luxuries of home to lull her into a sense of security. She wouldn't fall for it, though. The guy was holding her against her will, after all. But she couldn't help but be thankful for this little indulgence, so that she didn't have to wear the ratty old dress anymore.

Again, surprise washed over he as she searched the bag's contents. He had brought her an array of clothes, from t-shirts and sweats to leggings, blouses, and two of her favorite dresses. The asshole even put some essential toiletries in there. Rose felt strange knowing that he had slipped into her house, unnoticed, but if he could escape from Arkham, her house, guarded by her uncle's associates, was hardly a problem.

She couldn't help but worry about her cats, though. Relieved that she had put down wet food food and more dry food than usual, as well as fresh water, she knew they would be okay for about three days, but she was nervous for the days after that. Maybe Sal had stopped by to take them after he and his family escaped? But she doubted that; her uncle had never shown a fondness for Molly and Atticus whenever he visited. Maybe, just maybe, she could work out a deal with the clown fiend to bring them to... wherever she was? It seemed unlikely, but maybe she could convince him, especially since he had brought her clothes and bathroom essentials.

"Well, fuck me," she sighed unhappily as she stormed into the bathroom with the duffle.

Rose stood in the shower for a while, letting the lukewarm water run over her as she considered her options, but she soon realized there were slim to none. She could tell the Joker everything she knew about her uncle, she could offer him a huge cash reward for letting her go, but she figured that he hadn't taken on a life of terror and chaos for the money. Rose knew it would be hopeless trying to escape, as she had no idea how to get out or where she was, though she assumed it was the Narrows, a haven for Gotham's scum.

The police had to be sniffing around for her; Sal was probably worried. Even if she had had loads and loads of cocaine in the car, he wouldn't leave his niece abandoned, not after all she'd done for him. Her uncle had probably called the police, but had his own search party going. After all, Rose was supposed to be the next boss of the Maroni family. Yes, she wasn't being abandoned, left at the will of the Joker. Rose decided to do the least dangerous thing in her situation.

Wait.

And it was easier said than done.

---------

The next few days passed and Rose was feeling antsy and anxious about her cats. They were the only part of her old life that she had left; she couldn't lose them. That night, when the Joker's cronies brought her more fast food, she asked them if they could tell "the Boss" that she was ready to talk. Neither said a word, but she knew they had heard her. She sat patiently as they left, eating her food nervously as she waited. After about ten minutes, the Joker entered, a smug grin plastered on his face.

"I knew you couldn't resist," he laughed self-assuredly, leaning against the closed door. "What can I, ah, what can I do for you?"

Rose stood this time, not wanting to feel intimidated by the maniac. "I know you've been to my house, you saw my cats," she began with authority. "I want to know if they're safe."

The Joker waved his hands exasperatedly. "Don't worry, don't worry, your little furry friends are fine," he said airily. "Trust me." He giggled fiercely when Rose raised an eyebrow in the irony of his statement.

"I wouldn't trust me, either," he said finally as the last tremors of laughter faded. "Now, ah, what did you say about information on your uncle?"

"I didn't," she said, folding her arms. Despite her want to know more, she certainly wasn't going to turn her uncle in to this guy. She knew squealing would make her free, but she had no desire of being the one who brought Sal down, of seeing reports of his death on the news or the grieving faces of Gina and the kids when they found out _she_ was the reason why he was dead or worse. No, she couldn't, and wouldn't give up all that she knew.

"Are you sure?" The Joker asked, eyebrow raised in. Rose was already growing tired of him. He was so theatrical, so blatantly sardonic and mocking all the time, she wished more than ever to stick a bullet right in his frontal lobe.

"I don't know where he went if he's not at his house or the hideout; those are the only places he owns that I'm aware of."

"That you're _aware_ of," he repeated, flicking his tongue against the edges of his mouth. "That's odd. For as much as you did for him in the past few months, I was sure he _trusted_ you a little bit more."

Rose knew what he was doing; he was testing her, teasing her, trying to get her to say something, to attack him, to do anything that showed him he was getting to her. But she wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

"So, what's the point of asking me if you know he doesn't tell me much? And besides, if you knew I was working for him, then _you_ must know what we had been doing," she shot back.

He only laughed at her remark, reaching into his pocket. Rose's eyes were suddenly glued to the knife he pulled out. She felt her heartbeat quicken, but wouldn't let him see her fear, not this time. Her mob instincts were kicking in, the ones that told her to stand tall, look him in the eyes with a stern, proud look in her eyes.

"So, we were interrupted last time," he began casually, approaching her, despite her refusal to be intimidated by him, "and I never got a straight answer. Do you wanna know how I got these scars?"

"Not particularly," Rose replied, standing her ground. He was trying to distract her from the comment about her uncle, to scare her.

He waved his hand, ignoring her reply. "Oh, well, I'll tell you anyway." And in a flash, he had her pinned against the wall, the knife's cold steel resting gently against her cheek, a stark contrast to the tightening grip the Joker had on her left arm.

He squinted his eyes, his pupils darting back and forth, as he searched for the right words to begin. "I had a, ah, fiancée. A _beaaauutiful_ one, just like you," he said reminiscently as he stared deeply into Rose's eyes, his tongue twitching around his scars and Rose could hear the saliva slide against his skin. "I loved her more than anything. She was my soul-mate. And very..." he waved his hand in the air as he pondered for a moment, "...very, ah, English. But a _sweet little thing,_" he growled into Rose's ear, making her shudder at the dark tone in his voice, a sudden rush went down her spine in fear. "And she's always telling me to be happy, to _smile_ a little more," he said sinisterly.

"So, we decided to go there, England, to tell her parents the great news!" he said cheerfully, his scars stretching across his face as he smiled. "Now, she's from London, a pretty, ah, dodgy part of the city. And when we go to her parents' house for dinner and announce our upcoming nuptials-_sah_," he hissed, "her dad hits the roof, can't _believe_ she marrying a Yank like me," his voice dropped an octave, the rage he often kept pent-up escaping. "So, he kicks us out of the house, before we even have dessert!" he laughed.

"So, we decide to head back to our hotel to figure out what to do about dear ole Dad. I was so distracted with trying to comfort her, stop her from crying, I didn't see her _brother_ coming out of the shadows with his little buddies. A nasty bastard, her brother, and he seemed to be pre-tty drunk, having spent the night out. He grabs my fiancée from me, telling her that Daddyy told him about her little boyfriend and that she shouldn't be out with the likes of him. She cries that I'm 'The One,' that it shouldn't matter that I'm American. Now," his eyes were getting wild, his voice deepening as he continued, licking his lips, "big brother doesn't like backtalk. Not. One. _Bi__**t**__._ So he hits her pretty hard and she falls down. I tried to help her, tried to get him off her, but his li-ttle friends are pretty strong. One of them goes to grab her, holding her against him as Big Brother whips out a knife, just like this," he gestures to the one currently in Rose's mouth. "And he says, '_Let's put a smile on that face!_'" He perfectly mimics a Cockney accent and digs the knife against the inside of her cheeks, causing her to shake in fear of what he would do next. "And right in front of his sister..." he stopped, letting the knife drop to the ground, pulling her closely to his face. "Well, I guess you can figure out what happened next," he laughed hysterically. "And this is the best part," he paused, his laughter getting the better of him, "you'll loooove this. My fiancée, after all that happened? She can't even look at me, says she can't live with the scars! She _leaves me_! Isn't that _hilarious_??" He let go of Rose and stepped back from her, letting her move quickly from her entrapment while he continued to laugh deliriously.

"So," he said, moving to sit again in the chair, resting his ankle on his thigh. "Now you know! Good story, right?"

Rose glared at him, angry that she let him scare her again with his knife tricks. She stomped into the bathroom and closed the door as harshly as she could, hearing his sinister laughter through the broken barrier between the rooms.

"Aww, come on, Rosie," he practically cooed, inches away from the door on the other side as she sat on top of the sink. "That was a pretty good joke. Come out of there. Besides, you owe me some in-for-_ma_-tion."

Rose knew he was right; besides, she wanted more details about Molly and Atticus. She pushed the door open suddenly, hoping it would hit him in the face, but he moved out of the way just in time. He wagged his finger at her and tutted. "Now, that's not very nice," he chided lightly, before grabbing her arm and pushed her into a sitting position on the bed. "Go on, tell me," he goaded, knife in hand. "What's Uncle Sal told you? Hmm?"

"I already told you, I don't know," Rose spat angrily, hoping he would believe her lie. "He was gonna make a killing off of the coke and then buy out some stocks in Wayne Enterprises. That's all I've got."

The Joker seemed to buy it, tapping his chin with his knife in thought. "Hmm, seems strange that Maroni would go through all of _that_ for some, ah, leverage in Bruce _Wayne's_ company."

"Are you kidding?" she scoffed. "Look at the numbers; Wayne Enterprises is probably one of the only major corporations in the _world_ that isn't struggling in this shit economy. Wayne's making money, becoming more efficient, and still manages to give his employees holiday bonuses. Who _wouldn't_ wanna get in on that?" This much was true, Rose had done research on Wayne's conglomeration before the gala and was hardly surprised to see his company flourishing.

"Innnnteresting," her captor remarked, licking his lips.

"Well, now you know. Now, will you _please_ tell me about my cats?" she asked, trying to hide the desperation in her voice.

"I already told you," he told her calmly, unfazed by having his train of though derailed. "They're fine. And by tha_t_, I mean alive and well-taken care of. Nothing to worry your little head over." He patted her head for good measure, before bringing his face level with hers.

"What?" Rose asked, feeling irritated. He had been pushing her buttons long enough today; she just wanted him to leave so she could just be alone.

His expression changed suddenly, no longer mocking and demonically giddy, but he still held the darkness, the terrifying depravity that shook Rose to the core. He searched her eyes, for what, she didn't know. But he gazed at her intently for what felt like hours. She refused to give into the demonic scrutiny of his eyes, made darker by the greasepaint makeup surrounding them. Then he said something Rose hadn't expected to hear from his lips, not if she had a million guesses as to what he would say.

"You really _are_ beautiful, Rosie."

And without another word, he stood up and walked out, leaving his prisoner utterly bewildered.

_----------------_

_Welllll, my little monsters, that's it! I hope you liked this. I toyed with this for a while, just because I'm struggling a lot with how to make the Joker believable, staying away from clichés, hinting at things without giving anything away, etc. _

_And you know how I love love all your feedback so if you could, tell me what you liked, didn't like, what I can improve on. Thank you, my darlings, who have stuck with me thus far. :)_

_Bonhiver_


	10. Try To Remember

**Author's Note:**

WHADDUP, NERDS?? I'm back! (For now.) Midterms are ovah so I finally got the chance to update this bad bitch. Pardon the speech, it's the after effects of moving to the Midwest. Geez alou, doncha know!

Joker: Ugh, shut UP.

Wha-eh-errr, dude.

Batman: Jaysus, Mary, an' Joseph!

Hey, I'm pretty sure that's Canadian. Soooo wrong.

Batman: (pout)

(ignores it) So, this chapter is basically a flashback/dream-type whatsit in Rose's life. I'm trying to figure out where else to go with this and I've been meaning to give y'all a look into her world when it was fun and normal. Anywhozawhatsit, I hope you enjoy it and tell me what ya think, b'ye golly!

Joker: (rolls eyes)

Ey, don't gimme dat queer look, boy.

-------------

**Chapter 9: Try To Remember**

"_Hey, it's Charles, right?"_

_Rose had seen him across the street, as she walked back to her apartment after classes. They had met last weekend, through a friend whom Rose had known in high school. That Saturday night hadn't been anything special; sparks hadn't flown and they hadn't spend the entire night together in a corner, talking and laughing, paying attention to only each other. In all honesty, Charles Rainier hadn't been or done anything spectacular; they made a few jokes about the Bush administration, realized they grew up relatively near one another, and generally found themselves enjoying each other's company in the midst of the small get-together. But he had done little to impress past the idea of casual acquaintances, maybe even good friends if he were staying in the city after graduating. Rose was terrible with names and didn't want to embarrass herself by calling him Clark, or something, when she saw him. In fact, she had considered ignoring him as she crossed the street to reach her temporary residence. _

_But then she remembered how green his eyes were. And that _smile_._

_It was unusual for someone's smile to impress her the way his did, especially hidden under the prickly scruff of two weeks' neglect. All the same, Rose felt herself addressing him as they walked closer towards each other._

_He was exhausted; the last few days had been hell, trying to get enough credits to graduate early. His roommate was sick and he was beginning to feel the effects of their close proximity in the form of a sore throat and the occasional sneeze. And the stress of an ex-girlfriend trying to win him back certainly wasn't helping matters. What Charles really needed was a long nap in the embrace of the old, soft futon he had brought to Evanston from Annapolis, an old piece of furniture his parents were glad to be rid of. _

_But a cold beer, first, he told himself as he trudged down the street in extreme fatigue. There were still the case reviews he had to do for his Social Justice class before Thursday, not to mention, more sources he had to find for his Senior Research Paper. He sighed quietly, annoyed that he had been putting all of this off. It wasn't in his character at all to be that way, but Charles likened it to all the stress he had been under from his professors, his employers, and most of all, his overbearing parents. _

_After wearily watching his feet for the past three blocks, in the corner of his eye, he saw a kelly green peacoat in the swarm of grey and black ones moving towards him. Charles knew who it was, before she called his name._

_Rose Akram._

_He'd only met her a few days ago at his friend Wendy's house and even though they hadn't "hit it off" like Wendy had hoped they would have, he certainly remembered her. She was extremely different from the rest of the new law students—determined, yet she knew not to take herself too seriously. The first year of law school was like starting undergrad all over again and one had to be a little wild and open to get adjusted, but not overly so. Charles remembered wondering why he hadn't seen her in his classes yet, thinking she was a third year, like him. Regardless of what nature of the DC native stuck with him more, Rose was definitely someone he wanted to see more of. And lo and behold, there she was, her smile sparkling in the late autumn sun, the northern wind whipping through her long hair. He felt a surge of energy run through him, as he waved._

"_Yeah, hey. It's good to see you, Rose, how've you been?" He felt strange trying to hug her or shake her hand and opted for standing with his hands in his pockets._

_Rose suddenly wished he had thought to hug her when they reached each other, especially when she saw what he was wearing. There was something about the collegiate male attire that made her drool. "I'm fine, just about to work on this deposition assignment for Handler's class."_

_Charles laughed. "Good luck with that. She loves to start out with the hardest stuff but she grows on you by the end of the class."_

"_Honestly, that's what I've heard about _every_ professor I have," she groaned in annoyance. "They're all tough and crazy in the beginning, but then they get to be your favorites... I'm tired of waiting to like them."_

"_Well, welcome to Northwestern Law," he teased. _

_Rose couldn't help but laugh. They exchanged a few jokes, complaints, and stories about professors, particularly Handler and she soon found herself completely oblivious to everything around her, except for Charles. Despite her indifference at Wendy's house, she was starting to find him much more intriguing. He looked a little disheveled and worn out when she first saw him, but he had certainly perked up since they started talking. She wondered what had worn him out so much over the past few days. _

"_How's your internship going? I heard you're working with Kaiser & Euler."_

_He shrugged. "It's fine, I guess. This summer was better when I was doing work with Cates, Ronaldo, & Smith. That was when they had that immigration case everyone was in an uproar about. K&E are more about representing corporations."_

"_So they're in it for the money?" Rose stated more than asked. She had heard about her fair share of corporate lawyers from her mother, who almost always went up against them and the other bloodsucking leeches like them in the DC court system._

"_Yeah and believe me," his voice began much more serious and impassioned, "I wouldn't dream of working for someone like them, ever. But they offer paid internships and the rent on my apartment went up this year. I'm pretty swamped."_

_Rose nodded in understanding. "I can tell," she said, "you look a little drained. But hey, it won't last for the rest of the term." Charles smiled at her compassion. She paused for a moment, sucking in her cheeks, starting to feel a bit nervous, his vibrant eyes pierced through the lenses of his glasses, his slightly unkempt hair fluttered lightly as the wind blew._

"_Well—"_

"_So—"_

_They both hesitated as they opened their mouths to speak again, a bit of the tension leaving them as they laughed at their obvious nervousness._

"_Go ahead." His slight Southern twang that had disappeared after moving to Chicago resurfaced for a moment. Rose took notice, though, and found it adorable._

_She felt a rush of pink reach her cheeks. "I was just going to say, that a few friends and I were going to go for Lou Malnati's tonight, just pizza and drinks. Are you interested? Wendy's friend, Jake, is going, from the other night." She hoped that last part would convince him that it wasn't all young, bright-eyed, naïve first years going, that she had some standing with the older students._

_Charles laughed. "I was about to ask if you wanted to grab a beer at Shannon's. But dinner sounds better. I haven't had deep dish in a while."_

"_Great!" Rose didn't mean to sound so eager, but there was no point in hiding it if he accepted her invitation. "I'll give you my number so we can all go together."_

_The wheels in Charles's mind kept turning when he saw her eyes light up and a new enthusiasm come into her voice. "Sounds good to me." He took out his cell and tapped her number onto his screen, before reciting his number to her._

"_So... I'll see you soon, yeah?"_

"_Absolutely," he replied, completely sure of his statement, then added with a grin, "can't wait."_

_They both took three steps after bidding the other a "see-you-later." Rose closed her eyes and inhaled deeply; Charles sighed. And at the same moment, they both realized, Wendy was actually right._

_-----------_

_It was hardly news to their friends when Rose exclaimed happily one afternoon that Charles had invited her out to dinner._

"_What took so long?" snorted Kate._

"_I thought you guys had already fucked," Amelia teased._

"_A _date_? How old is he, four?" Julia scoffed._

"_I told you he was your type!" Wendy said triumphantly._

_Rose scrambled to find an outfit in her closet. She still hadn't unpacked some of her clothes from her suitcases, so dumping its remaining contents on her bed, she sifted through them to find something worthy of a first date. Her roommate, Amelia, helped her._

"_Well, what about... that light blue dress?" she offered for Rose, who was completely frazzled, bustling around her room._

"_It's way too summer-y," she said immediately, "I want to wear something warm and darker."_

"_Then what's wrong with the other dresses I showed you?" Amelia groaned in frustration, pointing at one of the many disregarded outfits on the bedroom floor._

"_Too fancy."_

"_The Diane von Furstenburg?"_

"_I don't want him to think I'm some kind of brat who only wears designer."_

_Amelia rolled her eyes. "Rose, he's known you for almost _three_ weeks now, I think he's seen you in sweats enough to know you're a normal person."_

"_Still, it doesn't work for where we're going."_

"_And where's that?"_

"_...I don't know. Some Greek place I've never been to." Rose plopped onto her bed with a huff, totally exhausted and overwhelmed._

_Amelia sighed. "Well, I give up. Unless you want to borrow something from my closet, you're shit outta luck."_

_Rose pouted for a moment, thinking back on what she had worn for other dates. Maybe they could provide her with inspiration. She sat with her eyebrows furrowed, lips tightened, chin scrunched, in thought. A sudden realization came crashing over her, her eyes widened and mouth formed into a wide "O"._

"_I don't think I've ever been on a date," she said._

_Amelia raised an eyebrow. "Wait. Are you kidding?"_

_Rose stared blankly at the wall opposite her bed. "No. I've never been on a nice date to dinner. Just drinks and movies and their apartments..."_

_She recounted a quasi-rendezvous when she was nineteen. It was the summer she was visiting her friend, Eva, in a suburb outside of Paris. Since Eva was busy studying for some kind of entrance exam for university, her older brother, whom Rose had idolized for years, decided to take her around Paris for the evening. While the outing had ended in a passionate summer of stolen kisses in the hallway, holding hands under the kitchen table, and empty promises to see each other again, Rose didn't think she and Vincent ever went out on their own, as a "couple," or whatever they called them in France (Rose had always found the boyfriend/girlfriend/going out thing as very juvenile)._

_But besides Vincent and two casual "Well, we're out, let's grab a bite" sort of deals, Rose had never been asked out on a scheduled dinner. It felt so weird to be finally doing it. That's when she realized how nervous she was._

_And the anxiety only grew as she slipped into a pair of Amelia's boots, praying it matched the basic floral pattern on a dress she found hiding in her closet. The dress was nothing special or elaborate; Rose had no desire to seem like she was trying too hard, but still wanted to show she had put effort into her look for the evening. Then the doorbell rung and she nearly jumped out of her skin._

_For some reason, all of the anxiety and worry left her when she saw Charles standing on her stoop, the icy air from outside cooling her burning face. And there was that smile again. Rose knew she would be fine (after a few quick Hail Marys when Charles kissed her cheek). They made their way down the steps of her stoop and he slipped his hand in hers._

_Charles refused to admit it, but he was a Southern gentleman through and through. His father, an established businessman from Georgia, had taught his son well in the art of chivalry, the one trait of his Southern upbringing that stayed with him after leaving home for the first time when he turned eighteen. Women were, according to Southern etiquette, delicate and dainty creatures that had to be treated like porcelain beauties, with grace, charm, and care. And from the moment he picked Rose up on that cold November night, he had done just that._

_Rose had never felt this way before. She found herself staring at Charles for the entire meal, hanging on to his every word, laugh, breath, like he would be swept away if she wasn't paying close enough attention. He was polite, charming, and most importantly, very interested in her and what she had to say, a rarity she had found among most of the men she had met over the years. She could barely contain herself when he asked if she wanted to take a walk around the neighborhood before he brought her back to his house. But she still managed to stay sane, walking and talking with him like any normal person._

"_Did you always want to be a lawyer?" Rose asked as they strolled slowly through Northeast Park._

_Charles shook his head. "I still don't know if I want to," he answered honestly, surprised he was divulging such an insecurity to her. "Honestly, law school was just something to do."_

"_I understand that," Rose nodded her head in agreement. "I used to dream about owning an art gallery in New York." She blushed before adding, "I wanted to be Charlotte, like on _Sex and the City._"_

_Charles laughed. "Really? What happened to that?"_

"_I realized I hate modern art and searching for 'new talent,'" she laughed lightly. "What about you? If you don't want to be a lawyer, what was your dream job?"_

"_Well, when I was a kid, all I wanted to do was to be president. But now, I hate politics."_

_They both laughed at the notions of their former aspirations. "Well, aren't we just a couple of the disenchanted?" Rose teased. "I'd say we're great lawyer material. My mom's always says cynics make the best lawyers."_

"_Does she?"_

_Rose nodded. "I think it's because she's a lawyer, too."_

"_So, just keeping up with the family dynasty?" he laughed._

"_No, I just think law is interesting; I don't know if I really see a career in that for me."_

"_Well, your mom must like it."_

"_Some days I'm not so sure."_

"_Why's that?"_

"_She's been working in DC for almost twenty-five years and in all the times she's come home from the office or been pouring over case files, she never really seemed... too ecstatic about it." Rose had too many flashbacks from her childhood of her mother coming home right after dinner, frazzled, suit askew, briefcase with papers stuffed inside. But her mother had always been so good about hiding her frustrations, at least for the sake of her children._

"_Why is she still doing it, then?"_

_She shrugged. "She just likes to help people—she works in social justice. It's not so much of enjoying the grunt work and the long hours and awful attorneys, it's the end result of seeing her client found innocent or seeing someone else pay their dues. I think that's why she's stayed on for so long."_

_Charles took in the new information, not just for what Rose said, but the way she said it. Her hair, thanks to the freezing north winds, was flying in every which way, yet she refused to put it up—she even ruffled it every so often, an unconscious tick that she never had grown out of from childhood; her nails were short with red polish, contrary to what most of the law students preferred: long, French manicures and neutral colors. Even the way she carried herself set her apart from all the women he had met before her. _

_Being forced into Maryland high society, all the women had learned how to walk and to talk with such poise and grace, but it never looked natural with them, like it was a forced attitude that had been engrained into their heads for years. They were overly polite in public but conniving and sneaky amongst each other. Charles had almost been forced to marry one of those women, but quickly got out of it in a plea to attend law school. He wanted to escape the society and the world his parents had thrust upon him and the women he had spent years hating. Even the girlfriends he had had in college had the pretentiousness of Southern Belles, replacing the accent and bouffant hair with political radicalism and and overwhelming need to be avant-garde and trend-setting._

_But _Rose_..._

_She was a different species entirely. Despite her upbringing in Chevy Chase, surrounded by ambassadors, senators, lawyers, FBI operatives, and other quintessential DC-type characters, she managed to stay grounded, sane. Her composure and finesse were self-taught, smooth and delicate. She held the aura of elegance, but combined with an approachable normalcy Charles had never seen before. And while he wouldn't admit it then, he realized later that that moment, when she brushed some of her hair behind her left her as she spoke so serenely, was the moment he fell in love with her._

_The walk was relatively short, as the weather got colder and colder and after bordering the Mason Dixon line their whole lives, Rose and Charles were not accustomed to the unforgiving and persistent chill of Chicago. Rose found herself walking closer to Charles than she normally would as they made their way back to her apartment. She found it oddly endearing that he still refused to buy a car like the rest of his friends had. Sure, it was convenient for getting into the city, but there was public transportation for that and he had a bike that he took virtually everywhere with him around campus. And on that night, his lack of transportation certainly allowed for their conversation and presence together to last longer than it would have._

_But when they arrived at her front door, Rose couldn't help but wish they had stayed out longer._

"_I had a really nice time," she told him as she took her keys from her purse._

_Charles smile matched hers. Underneath his glasses, his eyes gave away his elation. "So did I."_

_Rose felt that nervous feeling overcome her again and she realized that this was the moment they were supposed to kiss. With her inexperience, she had no idea as to how to proceed. What was it that Amelia had said if she wanted the "good-night" kiss?_

"_Make sure you fiddle with your keys and look at doe-eyed at him," she had advised. "You'll look a little moony and silly, but he'll get the idea. Make sure you say something cute, too."_

_Rose hoped Amelia was right and she looked down coyly at her keys, turning them in her hands gently, letting them clink together, then looked up hopefully at Charles. "To be honest, this was, um, this was my..." she felt her face getting hot and she darted her eyes back down to her feet, _actually_ starting to feel shy, almost embarrassed for what she was about to admit._

_Charles was extremely eager to hold Rose in his arms. He wasn't sure how to proceed; she was so different from the other girls he had dated and he certainly didn't want to do anything that made her uncomfortable. But that adorable anxiety of hers was getting the better of him._

_"This was my first... actual date. Ever," Rose finished, her cheeks still flush with embarrassment. She rarely found herself stumbling over words and she was completely mortified for being tongue-tied at such a crucial moment. "So, if I seem nervous, it's, um..., it's just because of... that." _

_The moment his bare hand touched her cheek, her heart rate halted its frantic just-ran-the-Olympic-marathon-beating and returned to normalcy. She wasn't sure how it happened, but he had this amazing ability to immediately calm her down. Rose took in a sharp breath and looked up. And his eyes pulled her in again. Charles was staring at her, like the deepest abyss of all humanity and emotions was encased inside of her and he was trying to see it all, know it all._

_She tried to say something, anything. But in her anxiety for the imminent moment of truth, the only thing that came out was, "Nnngh."_

_Charles laughed lowly at her antics, his breath warming her face as he moved his head closer. She shivered and instinctively, her eyes fluttered shut. _

_When their lips touched, Rose knew she was done for. Something changed at that moment. This feeling overcame her entire being, something inexplicable and beyond explanation, but she knew. There was no going back, now._

___She was in love._

___They pulled back, both starry-eyed and smiling widely. Rose opened her mouth to speak._

_"____Charles, I—"_

**BANG!**

A gunshot rang out, waking Rose up. She shot up in bed, her surroundings unfamiliar. It was dark, she looked around frantically, still trying to gather her bearings. But seeing the flashing red light in the opposite corner of the room brought her memory back. She certainly wasn't falling in love with Charles again. She was still captive, hidden in this apartment in who-knew-where while her uncle searched for her. Things were so different when she was in law school; things were good, happy, normal. She could feel a lump in her throat forming, but noise following the gunshot from outside her room distracted her.

She heard shouting coming from the other side of her door, dogs barking, and the sounds of grunting, punching, and fighting. But another round of gun shots quieted all the noise, followed by a low, gravely voice.

"Having some prob-e-lems, boys?"

It was the Joker. His men must have been arguing about something, causing a fight to break out. A deadening silence came from the cronies, all of whom, Rose could tell without looking at them, were frightened beyond measure. The only sound was a sort of quiet moaning in pain. Someone had obviously been injured in the mêlée.

"I said-uh," he began again, the fury in his voice growing, "What happened?"

One brave voice spoke. "Johnny and Simon was playin' cards, boss. And... and Simon said he seen Johnny cheatin'. They was fightin' an' Simon shot Johnny. He's hurt pretty bad."

The Joker was silent. Rose heard his feet walking slowly, the wood creaking menacingly under his shoes as he slid across the floor. He finally came to a stop. The sound of a knife being revealed was muffled by the door, but the thin walls allowed for the noise to permeate into the room.

"Well, boys," the Joker hissed with grim delight, "it looks like we'll be learning a, um, a very important lesson today!" He moved again, Rose assumed towards the two culprits, as she heard a few of his other men moving out of the way.

The men remained quiet as their employer spoke again. "Now, I'm an honest guy. And I treat you boys well, hmm?" He didn't wait for an answer. "Now, I don't need you scumbags figh-tinggg with each other. Bad for business. Soooo," he took another deadening step and Rose could see the sinister grin form on his face. "We'll be learning a little abou-t..."

There was the sound of someone grunting in pain, followed by complete silence.

"Self. Control."

There was shuffling; something heavy was being dragged across the floor. Rose shivered, knowing exactly what was so heavy—the still-warm body of one of the thugs.

Then, the Joker said something that made Rose's heart stop.

"Get the girl."

-----------------

Ooh, major dramz! What does our friend have in store for Rose? I hope you liked the flashback. I did it to add a little normalcy to the whole situation Rose is in and—

(house music plays)

Batman: Eyyy! (shows off abs)

Wait, what?? Batman, why are you wearing an Ed Hardy shirt and True Religion jeans? And is your hair gelled under your mask?

Batman: I'm not Batman, I'm The Situation, in honor of Jersey Shore coming out on DVD! WE DON'T PUMP GAS, WE PUMP FISTS!!

Nooooo, no no no, NOT OKAY! Get that out of here. I'm not dealing with Guidos right now! I need to explain something to the readers and—wait. Where's the Joker...?

Batman: Oh, I dressed him up, too! It took forEVER.

Where is he?

Batman: (pulls Joker out, strapped to chair, with Amy Winehouse wig, spray tan, and tight leather dress) See? It's Snooki!

Joker: When I get out of this, Bat boy...

Okay, this is getting inappropriate. Shut it down, NOW.

Batman: But—

NOW.

Batman: (pouts) Fiiiine. (drags "Snooki" off)

LIKE I WAS SAYING. I wanted to make the Rose/Charles more normal and cutesy. Her life was pretty damn fantastic before Charles died. Normally, that's not my thing, but I like the comparison between Rose's life then and now. So, whether you love it, hate it, wanna marry it, please review! I won't be surprised if all of you have totes abandoned me because it's taken me FOREVERRR to update. But for those of you left, I love to hear from you! For anyone who's interested, I wrote this chapter listening to Joni Mitchell's album, Blue, her best in my opinion. It's perfect for anyone, whether you're in/out of love or are looking so something good to listen to when you're outside in the snow. She's my idol. Also, I recommend Josh Garrels. Beautiful voices, both of them.

Also, I'm sure most of you have, but check out the stories by **HoisttheColours**! Dat girl can write gud, fo'realz.

Bonhiver


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